


A journey of a thousand miles

by greyathena



Series: A journey of a thousand miles [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, some TFA cameos, some mild Rogue One spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 149,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyathena/pseuds/greyathena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships have to start somewhere.  Or, once you've jumped into a garbage chute with people you kind of either decide to like them or you don't.</p><p>Basically, Han and Leia from trying-not-to-think-about-her to declarations of love at the least convenient times.  (ANH through just after the end of ROTJ)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a very long step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody bonds in hyperspace. At least, they do if they just escaped the Death Star together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always fascinated by what information characters have at what times, and what they're missing, and what they tell each other. Warning for mention of interrogation/torture and attempted noncon (discussed briefly and not in detail).

**Part One: on the Millennium Falcon**

The kid was seriously milking it.

Which was a terrible thing to even think, obviously. But he _was_ laying it on thick out there, and it sure looked like the princess was buying all of it. And really, how long had he known the old man - three days? Han was observant, and despite the mentor thing they had going on it was clear that the two had barely been acquainted. But why let that get in the way of a pretty girl comforting him? And royalty, yet.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps - too quiet to be the kid in his cloppy borrowed trooper boots, and Chewie wouldn't come into a room without saying anything. He turned around to see the princess worrying the cuff of one sleeve with the fingers of the other hand.

"Something on your mind?" he asked.

There was a pause, but it wasn't a hesitation - she was studying him with those unsettling eyes. "Who hired you?" she asked finally. "The Alliance wouldn't have sent civilians to rescue me, especially not . . ." Her eyes darted back toward the lounge and Han mentally completed the sentence. _Especially not an undergrown teen who can barely keep his own nose dry._

She probably would have been slightly more tactful.

"We weren't hired to rescue you," he admitted. "Kenobi hired me to take him and the kid to Alderaan -"

She flinched. So she did know something.

"But when we found . . . _not_ Alderaan . . ." He gave her a stern look. "Heroics were not in my plan."

"I'm fascinated to hear you had a plan at all," she quipped, but her heart wasn't in it. She was getting pale even as he watched.

It might not have been tactful, but his curiosity won out. "Do you know what happened? It was like the whole planet had been wiped off the map, but -" He broke off because she was nodding mutely, her eyes vacantly picking out a spot on the wall and her mouth slightly open. He almost said something, but she pulled herself together to reply.

"That station is a weapon capable of destroying an entire planet with one shot."

Now he was gaping, even though Kenobi had seemed to suggest the same thing. "No single cannon could be that powerful."

"It is." Her delicate eyebrows lifted slightly as she talked. She was still gazing at the wall as though in a trance. "I saw them do it."

Icy fingers crawled up and down his spine as he remembered Kenobi at his creepiest - _as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced._ He swallowed and tried to think of something to say other than a curse word. "What'd Alderaan ever do to the Empire?"

"Nothing. It was because of me."

He said "what?" as a reflex, because her response hadn't made any sense. One small girl and the destruction of an entire world were things that had nothing to do with each other.

"They wanted to -" Her gaze slid toward him for the first time since he'd started asking questions. "You didn't actually know I was from Alderaan, did you."

Now there was really nothing to do but swear. She didn't have to say anything else; it all fell neatly into place. They'd had a member of the system's royal family, a suspected rebel, in their hands for questioning, and a superweapon designed to threaten and intimidate and terrify the galaxy. Of course they'd used it on her own world, her own people.

She almost cracked a smile when he swore, as if it had actually been something helpful. "Exactly," she said. "They - because I couldn't . . ."

One hand drifted to her mouth and she started to bite at her thumb. Something about the gesture, and maybe the loose strands of hair drying messily around her face, made him realize she was probably even younger than he'd thought. Maybe even younger than Luke. He could see she was blaming herself for Alderaan getting blown up and he wanted to say something nice - yeah, she'd been a pain in his ass so far, but she was just a kid and this was . . . but what actually came out was, "After where we've all been today, do _not_ put your fingers in your mouth."

She threw him a look, but dropped her hand. "Worried you won't get paid if I die of infection?"

"Yep." He jerked his head toward the crew quarters, where he'd already taken a quick minute to get the smell of trash compactor off him. "You can clean up if you want. Should've thought of it before. Computer says we're still a day or so from the Yavin system, so . . ." He shrugged awkwardly. "Between me and the kid, we should be able to find you something if you want to change . . ."

At first he thought she was going to make a snarky comment about wearing their clothes, but she just nodded and said quietly, "Thank you."

While she was washing up, Han went back out to the lounge to pour himself a drink and check on Luke (more or less in that order). He set his glass down close to the kid's morose face as he took a seat on the bench, just in case the comforting embrace of Old Rathtar rum might tempt him.

"That smells like the stuff we used to strip corrosion off the converters," Luke said, looking askance at the glass.

"But drinking it won't kill you nearly as fast." He took a sip to prove it and let the rum sink into him for a moment. "Did you know she was from Alderaan?"

Luke's forehead creased as if he were considering it for the first time. "I guess maybe Ben said - we were supposed to bring the droids to her father there, so . . . she must be, I didn't really think about it."

"She says they blew it up - the Empire. That's what we ran into - that's what Kenobi felt. Or said he - whatever."

The mention of the old man threatened a return of Luke's dark mood, but it passed in favor of incredulity. "So Ben was right? The whole planet?"

"Some kind of super cannon. She saw it happen."

Luke sat up straighter suddenly, a look of horror on his face. "Her father - her whole family must have been on that planet, everyone she . . ."

"Everyone she knew, except whoever's on Yavin 4. And us." Han took a long drink of his rum.

"What do we do?"

"Unless your Force can bring people back from the dead, I don't see there's anything for us to do about it." He took another drink, but it wasn't making him feel any better - though it was softening his feelings for the girl. "Poor little thing."

"She's so brave."

She was, but now that he knew what had happened Han thought she was also shocked and numb. "She was taking care of you." Not to mention helping them escape a squadron of TIE fighters.

"I'm such an idiot."

Han couldn't argue with that, but he heard the slam of a hydraulic door and waved at Luke to shut up. A few moments later the princess wandered almost shyly into the lounge, wearing one of Han's shirts pulled so tightly over leggings that it wrapped around her nearly twice. None of them knew what to say right away, but Han finally raised his glass in her direction and said, "Bite of the Old Rathtar?"

He'd meant it mostly as a joke, but some of the tension in her face loosened and she said, "Please."

Han raised his eyebrows but set the glass on the table and nudged it in her direction. She sat next to him and - surprising him again - didn't insist on a glass of her own but sipped willingly from his before passing it back. He watched for a reaction to the alcohol but there was only the slightest wince.

"I'm sorry. About Alderaan," Luke said quietly.

Leia nodded. She was staring at the wall again. As she moved, her right shoulder brushed Han's and she flinched away. So much for companionship.

But, he reminded himself with another sip of rum. She was scared and traumatized, and she was . . . _little_. He put the drink down close to her, and when she kept on just staring ahead, he picked up her hand off the table and wrapped it around the glass.

She switched it to her left hand before raising it to her lips, and this time she showed no reaction to the taste at all. Han's eyes narrowed. She had definitely been shooting right-handed back on the battle station - and her earlier reactions hadn't had anything to do with the rum, or him.

"Hey," Han said. "Anybody else notice that only one of us still smells like a trash heap?" His head rolled lazily toward Luke.

"What about Chewie?" Luke asked defensively.

"That kinda herbal-y smell, like warm pafton?" Han grinned. "That's the smell of freshly washed, slightly damp Wookiee."

Beside him, it sounded as if Leia had almost laughed.

"Go on, kid." Han nudged Luke with his elbow. "If we've got to share this ship for the next two days, you're gonna be clean."

"Going, going," Luke grumbled, but only a little, as he dragged himself to his feet and headed for the crew quarters.

When he was gone, Han pushed the remainder of the rum toward the princess. "Finish that, then come with me," he instructed.

She looked at him with an expression that had both a flash of outrage and a spark of fear in it. Too late he realized what she thought.

Giving her a half-smile that he hoped was apologetic, he touched the back of her right shoulder with his hand and watched her wince. "How long did they have you?" he asked.

She was still watching him suspiciously, but she answered his question. "Three standard days. I think. I tried to keep count, but -"

"But they made sure you couldn't." He gave the rum glass another little nudge in her direction. "So - was the chair before or after the droid?"

She took a slow, deep breath before answering. "After."

He gave a small murmur of acknowledgment, looking at his fingers on the table instead of her. "You must be tough."

"I didn't give them anything."

That pride would keep her going even without much else left to her. He smiled. "Didn't think you did, your highness."

"You don't have to -" Mid-snap she changed direction. "You know a lot about Imperial interrogation procedures."

"Yep," he said noncommittally.

"First-hand?"

"Yep."

The fingers of her left hand twitched on the table, as if she were thinking of reaching for the rum glass. "From which side?" she asked.

"Witness."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," he relented. "Yeah, I was one of them. Saw some things I couldn't accept, and - now I'm not. And that's all I'm going to say about it."

"All right," she said softly.

He cleared his throat and gestured at her shoulder, watching as she instinctively flinched even though he didn't actually touch her this time. "That's how I know you've got a bad burn there. They didn't treat it, did they?"

She gave a very small shake of her head. "They only worry about you being in good shape for execution if the execution is going to be public. They'd already announced I was dead, so . . ."

"Yeah. Also they're bastards."

"And that," she agreed, without the reprimand he'd half expected.

"It's hurting you," he said. "And if it doesn't get treated soon, it'll scar tight and you'll lose range of motion in your arm. So." He pushed the glass over until it touched the side of her hand, and repeated, "Finish that, and come with me."

She held his gaze for a few moments, but eventually did as he said and tossed back the rest of the liquid as if she spent every night in a spaceport bar.

Maybe she did. What kind of teenaged princess knew how to handle weapons like that anyway?

Somewhere along the way she'd evidently decided he was trustworthy, because she didn't protest when he led her into his cabin and closed the door behind them. She did cross her arms and stare back at him with a challenging look as he sized her up.

"Uh," he said. "Maybe if you take the shirt off and put it on backwards?"

She didn't move. They stood staring at each other for a while until finally she said, "With you watching?"

Oh. "Right." He turned his back. He'd lost count of how many times he'd already swallowed a smart remark, but even he knew there was a time and a place. And when a girl had just spent three days being interrogated by the Empire was not it, even if her whole planet hadn't just been blown up.

"Ready," she said behind him, and her voice shook just a bit.

He reached for the medkit in the cabin's locker before turning around. She was motionless facing the wall, his shirt unbuttoned and gaping open.

There was exactly what he'd expected to see, and a bit worse. The burn on her back was familiar, red and shiny with a pattern of little circles in a perfect grid that was somehow obscene in its regularity. He gently moved the shirt away from her right shoulder and said, "The chair is made for bigger people. That's why the prods got your shoulder, too."

"Is it bad?"

There was blistering, some of it already opened and raw. She must really have lasted a long time. "It's probably gonna hurt more before it feels better," he said honestly.

"I figured."

The "worse" was a matching set of purpling bruises over her hips that ran from her back around to her stomach on each side. He held out a spread hand experimentally and saw it was a perfect match, except that his hand was bigger. Someone had grabbed her, and held her, hard. 

And this was a conversation he was really not prepared to have, but they were two days from her Rebel base and if she was hurt it could be . . . bad, by then. He tried to sound casual as he rummaged for some bacta patches. "You hurt anywhere else?"

"I don't think so," she said. "I expect I'll be sore tomorrow, but no worse than you'd expect after diving into a garbage chute and then running for my life."

She didn't sound as if she were hiding anything, but then a strange man she didn't know was probably the exact last person she would want to tell about something like that. "You, um." He prodded at one bruise where it must have been tender, until she hissed. "Somebody got you pretty good here," he said.

"Bruises will heal on their own." She cast him a look over her shoulder. "I'm getting kind of cold."

"Right, right." He opened a steri-pack and said in warning, "Considering the garbage chute, I think I'd better clean up at least the most . . . oozing spots. It's not going to be fun."

"Just - get it over with."

The muscles of her back tensed, and he could hear her breathing hard through her teeth, but she didn't make any other sound as he cleaned the open blisters. While she was distracted by the pain he made one more attempt. "You know - you know if anything did happen - whatever happened, it's not - there's no shame in it."

"Nothing happened," she said. Her voice was tight with threatened tears, but he thought it was because he was hurting her with the antiseptic.

"Well - good," he said.

She was quiet for a while, then, as he was opening a bacta patch, she said, "There was one, a lieutenant. He had - intentions, I think. But he didn't have enough time, he was interrupted." Her shoulders shook with a small, brief laugh. "For one very weird moment I was happy to see Darth Vader. It didn't last."

"There's all different kinds of monsters," he said, smoothing the edges of the bacta patch around the burn they'd left over most of her shoulder.

"We can always use more people who're willing to fight them," she said quietly.

He narrowed his eyes at her, although the effect was probably ruined by the steadying hand he still had on her good arm. "Listen, I wasn't kidding when I said I'm not in this for the rebellion. Soon as I get you safe to your base, I'm out of there."

"Then why help me?" she burst out in frustration.

"I'm a mercenary, sweetheart, that doesn't make me heartless." He jerked his chin in her direction as he reassembled the medkit. "You can sleep in here if you want."

There was that look again.

He rolled his eyes. " _Alone_. Thought you might want the privacy. I can bunk out on the bench in the lounge."

She looked around the cabin for only a second before answering. "Actually I think I've spent enough time in small, closed rooms lately. I'll sleep out in the lounge." Her face softened marginally. "But thank you."

He shrugged. "I'll get you some blankets and stuff. Also, here." He held out a small pill bottle and waited for her to extend her hand, then tipped two of the pills into her palm.

"What -"

"Painkillers. They're pretty mild but we don't have anything stronger."

She hesitated. "Is the bottle labeled?"

"Have I given you any reason not to trust me?" he laughed. It wasn't, of course; he and Chewie didn't always restock their supplies by traditional means.

He could actually see her suppressing the urge to say something sharp. He and princesses apparently had way more in common than he would have thought. Eventually she settled on admitting, "No."

" _Thank you_."

She sidled past him to open the cabin door, and he looked at her messy hair and the exposed bruises on her hips and said, "Hey."

She turned back, a question on her face.

He pointed a finger in her direction. "Just me. Not any other strange men who get you on their ship, all right?"

A beat passed between them, and once again he thought he saw a softening toward him. Then she drew herself up and said, "I try not to be on strange men's ships, as a rule. But you seemed like a reasonable alternative to imminent execution."

"Bet you say that to all the guys."

A corner of her mouth turned up. "Bet you've heard it more than once."

He grinned at her. "You wouldn't believe how poetic it sounds in Wookiee."

She was actually laughing as she left the cabin, so he considered his work done for the moment. 

When did he become everyone's caretaker anyway?

He had no idea how long he'd been asleep - though it didn't feel like long - when he was awakened by a shout of alarm. It took him a few foggy seconds to remember who exactly was on the ship - Chewie, Luke, droids, no old man, plus one princess. The shout had been male (and human).

His thoughts cleared somewhat as he jammed his feet into his boots, not bothering with a shirt. Was it possible an Imperial, or more than one, had stowed away on the ship and waited until they all went to sleep to strike? Not likely, but technically possible. Or that they'd run into something in the hyperspace lane that shouldn't have been there?

He met the princess in the corridor, running barefoot with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her hair in a loose braid down her back and her eyes wide. "Where is he?" Han demanded, not sure himself which "he" he meant.

"In the cabin, I think."

He ran for the crew cabin, aware of her following him. "We didn't run into something, did we?"

"What would we have run into?"

"Where are the droids?" he asked.

"Powered down!"

The door to the crew cabin was already open, Chewie standing in the doorway looking concerned. "What is it?" Han barked.

Chewie started to say something about "the young Jedi", but the princess had bolted past Han, ducked under Chewie's gesturing arm, and darted into the cabin, and at that point Han had to follow her in case she was planning to - fight hidden stormtroopers in her bare feet?

But there was no one in the cabin except Luke, frozen in a stiff and unnatural-looking posture on the middle bunk. "If we're all here . . . " Han started to say.

Leia dropped to her knees next to Luke's bunk and shook his shoulder. "Luke," she said gently, then, when that had no effect, repeated sharply, " _Luke!_ "

Luke didn't respond, but after a few moments he cried out again, wordlessly, as if trying to warn them of something. His body twisted and one arm lashed out and nearly hit Leia, who ducked just in time.

Chewie growled worriedly, and Leia looked to Han. "He says the kid won't wake up," Han translated.

Leia grabbed for Luke's flailing hand - with her dominant right arm, and Han didn't miss the small quick groan of pain when she stretched her shoulder - and folded his arm down onto his belly. She held it there for a while, not moving or speaking, while Han and Chewie watched tensely from the doorway.

Suddenly Luke opened his eyes and rose to half-sitting, clutching Leia's hand against his chest. "They're following us!" he said. Han felt suddenly cold in a way that had nothing to do with being bare chested.

"Are you awake right now?" Leia asked, showing more presence of mind than anyone else had managed.

Luke frowned at her. "Of course, I heard you."

Heard what? Now Han frowned at Leia, too. "What did you do?"

She completed the circle by craning her head to frown back at him. "Nothing. I told him to wake up."

"Uh - no, you didn't," Han said.

"I must have. He's awake," Leia said with inescapable logic.

"The Empire is following us?" Chewie asked, and Leia and Luke both looked at Han with matching curious expressions.

"Who's following us?" Han asked for their benefit.

"The Imperials - they _are_ tracking the ship," Luke replied. He was still holding on to Leia's hand - for some reason that annoyed Han more than the kid's certainty that his ship was being followed.

"You had a nightmare," Han said firmly.

"He's right, Luke." Leia's voice was much gentler. "We were talking earlier about the Imperials tracking the ship -"

"You thought they were!" Luke looked as if she had betrayed him.

"I - still do," Leia admitted. "But we'll deal with that when we can. Whatever you saw - I'm sure it was just a dream. You're worried - we all are . . ."

"Vader was flying his own fighter," Luke said, his face scrunched with the need for Leia to believe him. He'd apparently abandoned hope of Han and Chewie.

Leia hadn't. She threw Han a look of such desperation that he couldn't ignore it. He wandered further into the room and sat down on the edge of Luke's bunk (again, when did he get elected everybody's space dad? he was not cut out for this). "She's right," he said. "After what happened today, it's no surprise you're dreaming about being chased by the Empire, and Vader and all."

"It wasn't a dream," Luke insisted. "It felt like - like someone was telling me. Vader's looking for us."

Han realized that the princess was shaking, though she was trying hard to look calm. Without conscious thought he reached out and smoothed his hand over the back of her head, then dropped it to her good shoulder. Once his mind caught up with his body he expected her to recoil, but in fact she shifted closer to him so that her arm brushed his shin. The kid had managed to scare her.

"Well, lightspeed isn't any faster for them than it is for us," Han said. "They're not gonna catch up tonight, so let's all get some rest." He caught Luke's eye and looked meaningfully down at Leia, hoping the kid would get the message.

He did, thankfully. "Sorry," Luke said quickly. "You're right - I'm sure we're safe tonight."

Han took Leia's elbow and urged her up to her feet - she squeezed Luke's hand before letting it go - and out of the room, Chewie warbling a soft promise to keep an eye on things.

Leia met Han's eyes once they were alone in the corridor. She looked rattled, by more than the mention of Vader. "General Kenobi was training him, wasn't he?" she asked.

"You mean all the - Force stuff."

She nodded, studying him. "You don't believe in it."

He wanted to give an unqualified no, but he was old enough to remember the days before the Empire. "I know the Jedi were real, but I'm not so sure I believe they had some kind of magic power. I guess he was one of them?"

"General Kenobi?" She nodded. "There was a Jedi Skywalker, too. My tutors weren't supposed to tell us about them but they did anyway. I wonder . . ."

"His father, he says."

"I didn't think they were supposed to have families." She was rubbing her eyes absently. "Still -"

"No." She wasn't looking at him, and he took gentle hold of her arm and tugged her to face him. "No, don't - don't scare yourself like that. He doesn't know what's going to happen, any more than any of us."

She obviously thought otherwise; the dread was still plain on her face. But she nodded.

They were leaning side by side against the bulkhead. She had one bare foot crossed over the other, the edges of the blanket trailing on the floor, and loose ends of her (incredibly long) hair were in her face. And he realized, suddenly, that he liked her. She was bossy and she had a temper to match his, she was cynical and prone to suspect his motives, she was proud and tougher than she should have been, and she was also capable of being kind and patient and warm. She'd lost her whole world today, and she still heard someone shout in the night and felt responsible to do something about it. They both did.

Just like he felt responsible for her now. "You should get back to sleep," he said.

Her mouth turned up, though without humor, and she said, "I wasn't sleeping."

No, of course not. But she looked exhausted. "You should try," he said, taking a half step closer.

She looked up at him, and there was a moment. It was unexpected, heavy, and real, and he was aware that he'd gotten too close and he still wasn't wearing a shirt and she was hurt and tired and _too young_ for him to be feeling anything like this; and if she hadn't been so tired she would probably have hit him by now. 

Not to mention that she'd expected him to take advantage of the situation about six times since they'd gotten on the ship, and he'd be damned if he was actually going to do it. It might be a small moral victory, but he'd earned it and he was clinging to it.

Still, the dead of night was a really inconvenient time to figure out how much he liked her.

He patted her arm and casually leaned back away from her. "Go on. You don't want to be dead on your feet when we get to your base."

She nodded and turned to go, though she stopped once and turned to look at him in a way he couldn't decipher.


	2. running in place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no convenient time to realize you need someone, but the eve of an evacuation is more inconvenient than most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Leia shortly post-Death Star.

**Part Two: Rebel base, Yavin 4**

 

The sight of a familiar face was not immediately enough to put a damper on the giddy (dizzy, near-hysterical, the back of her mind tried to warn) feeling that had Leia laughing as the unlikely pair of a Tatooine farm boy and a smuggler captain escorted her from the hangar. Her mind and her body were still reeling from the fact that they weren't all dead, that the danger had somehow passed, and she broke into an even broader smile when she recognized the older man who had once been stationed with the palace garrison on her home world.

"Colonel Rieekan!" She broke away from her companions to take his offered hand in both of hers. "I wondered if you'd be here." It was an unspoken rule that no one ever discussed whether a suddenly missing soldier or politician or diplomat had overtly joined the Rebel Alliance. She remembered Rieekan as a proud and loyal Alderaanian, but there had also been a strain about him that grew more obvious as the Empire's grip on the Core tightened. For a Rebel sympathizer to stay put in official government service required a willingness to maintain the facade of loyalty to the Emperor, and it didn't surprise her at all that this man had found himself unable to do so.

He clasped her arm with his other hand and said, "Your Highness. We're all so grateful that the rumors of your execution were false."

"They almost weren't." She meant to introduce the two men flanking her, but that giddy dizziness was increasing and she had to take a moment to focus her eyes on Rieekan's shoulder. In the space of her hesitation he stepped forward.

"Of course, Captain Solo." He shook the smuggler's hand, then repeated the gesture with Luke. "We have a great deal to thank you for."

She missed the warmth of Luke's arm around her waist and Han's hand on her back, and it made her feel snappish suddenly in the midst of her joy. "Don't worry," she said, "Captain Solo has been adequately thanked by the quartermaster."

"And then he still came back for me," Luke pointed out gently.

"Yes, he did." Not quite able to turn and look at Han, she found him for a second in her peripheral vision. She already felt bad about her outburst, but she couldn't seem to keep track of either her thoughts or her mood.

"I was actually looking for you, Your Highness," Rieekan said. There was a look of resigned compassion about him that she didn't understand. "The command is gathering; I'll show you there."

Leia frowned in confusion. "A command meeting? All I had were the Death Star plans, I - there's nothing else I can brief them on."

"You're part of the command," Rieekan said, and she really couldn't place the reason for the gentleness in his tone. "The Empire knows our location now, there will need to be a plan for evacuation of the base."

"But I'm not -"

The older man placed a hand on her arm again. "Alderaan supported the Alliance, and I am here as a member of the Alderaanian guard."

Leia wondered wildly if he were the _only_ remaining member of the Alderaanian guard.

"Under our system, my loyalty is to the monarch," Rieekan continued. "As long as you are on base with me - if I am a member of command, you are a member of command."

It had never once occurred to Leia that she might now be considered a ruling monarch. Probably because all of that was gone, surely, as gone as Alderaan itself - how could she be a monarch of nowhere? 

Luke had stepped aside and was looking at her with a kind of reverence - he had been reminded that she was royalty, and she was sorry for that. On the other hand, she realized Han was at her elbow.

"If she technically outranks you, she's allowed to say no, right?" he asked. 

"Certainly," Rieekan said immediately. And of course he knew and Leia knew that she would never say no, that it was her duty to join the command meeting and help plan the evacuation on behalf of whatever remnant of her people might be here. And Han probably knew it too. But his standing up for her choice was still sort of touching.

His stance beside her was casual, purposefully so, but tension radiated from him. He was prepared for an argument. She was aware of the two men sizing each other up and thought they were both, slowly, coming around to a positive impression.

Meanwhile Han's interjection had given her the moment she needed to recover from being acknowledged as the ranking monarch of her lost world, to swallow around the dead and empty shocked place inside her and tell Rieekan, "Of course I'll come with you."

Han was now actually grasping her elbow, and he nodded at Luke - who had been greeted by a couple of pilots, their arms around his shoulders - and said, "We'll be in the courtyard - seems there's a party in the making, and somebody has to make sure the man of the hour doesn't give himself alcohol poisoning."

"Is that likely?" Leia asked, grateful to be talking about Luke for a moment and not herself, or Alderaan, or . . .

"Did you know Blue Squadron has been distilling gin in empty X-Wing fuel tanks?" Han returned.

Oh dear. Leia cast an alarmed look in Luke's direction. "Don't let him die."

"I didn't save him from the Empire just to let him pickle himself at the victory party." Han gave her an oddly serious nod. "So that's where we'll be. If, you know."

She sort of didn't, but she said, "All right."

Rieekan was still looking at her with a compassion that now she at least understood. As they set off down a corridor together, she asked him, "May I ask a favor?"

"Of course, Your Highness."

She took a moment to search for the right way to phrase _if anyone calls me a queen, ever, I think I might throw up_. "Alderaan is gone," she said quietly. "We need to find the appropriate way to respect its past, and move forward. I want to - serve our people, whoever survived, but I can't . . ." Her head reeled, and she took a breath to regroup. "I will not claim any title that I didn't already hold. Our people don't need a ruler, and that position -" She wanted to say "my mother's position," but if she said those words she would cry, and she was _not_ going to cry. "Alderaan is forever going to be - frozen, as it was two days ago. It already has a queen. The position is filled."

"Yes," Rieekan acknowledged, stopping and turning to face her with a little bow. "I agree - that is most appropriate. Alderaan has had her last queen."

"Thank you," she said very quickly, because if she was going to avoid crying she needed to keep her lips pressed tightly together and her teeth gritted. And as absolutely right as the image was, she couldn't afford to think about Alderaan's now-and-forever queen, not now.

She survived the meeting, which was mercifully fairly short, by pretending she thought she belonged there. She'd had plenty of practice being in briefings on her father's behalf, or sitting on committees as a senator younger than any of the others in the room. This wasn't much different, especially when they started talking about a ceremony to recognize those who had contributed most to the victory. One of Leia's committee assignments had been Promotions, Medals, and Commendations, which was seen as a soft assignment appropriate for a very junior senator.

Had been. According to a grim Mon Mothma, the Senate had just been dissolved; the Emperor no longer feeling the need for even the illusion of democracy. And even if the Senate had still existed, Leia had a feeling Alderaan's right of representation had just been rescinded.

But this, this here, now, was the Alliance to Restore the Republic, and the Alliance believed in morale more than repression. Leia agreed, certainly, but -

"Tomorrow?" she repeated, speaking up for the first time since Colonel Rieekan had ushered her into the room. The more they'd talked about evacuation, the more the adrenaline-rush need to _flee_ had flooded her limbs, and now they wanted to stay another night?

"There is no significant Imperial presence within less than a three days' journey," Mon Mothma said calmly. "We are confident they could not bring to bear any real force by tomorrow, or even the next day. We are safe for that long."

"If we needed the extra time to prepare for evacuation . . ." Leia said. "But to stop for ceremony, when the lives of everyone on the base are in danger?"

"We sustained relatively serious losses today, considering that only the pilots participated in any actual fighting," said a general whose name Leia didn't know. "The evac plan we've all just drawn up requires us to break up our forces, travel significant distances - some groups will have to make stops on other planets to conceal their final destination." All of which Leia knew, having listened while those plans were made. "That's a lot of opportunity for people to lose morale, drift away."

"Precisely," said Mon Mothma. "We need to honor what was done here today, solidify our mission and our dedication to each other, before we break up our forces. It will be weeks before we have every group accounted for at the new base."

Aware that any further protest would make her sound like a frightened child - and even more aware that it wasn't far from the truth - Leia acceded. She only nodded silently when it was further suggested that she, under the aegis of her office (the nonexistence of which was treated as a technicality), should present the medals and commendations. Viewed at a certain slant, most of the service performed in the last days had been done for Alderaan and its royal family.

"I do have a bit of practical good news for you," Mon Mothma told her privately as the meeting broke up. "We've had some things sent to your assigned quarters for now - I assumed you might like a change of clothes, some other necessities - but you see, when we feared you had been captured, we worried the Imperials would raid your apartments on Coruscant."

That made sense - they'd be looking for any intel left behind or information that implicated the Rebellion.

"So we raided them first," the older woman continued with a small smile. "Our cell leaders there packed everything up, made it look as if the Imperials had already cleaned it out. That shipment should meet us at the new base."

Leia had only slowly realized how dependent she was on the Alliance for literally everything, so it was a relief to think that at least some of her personal belongings would be making their way to her. She might need to rely on the rebellion to house, feed, and transport her, but at least she'd eventually be able to dress herself.

She had a headache by the time she located her quarters - tiny and bare, but after all it was only for one night. To her enormous gratitude, the change of clothes provided was the kind of simple, comfortable work clothing worn by the ground personnel. It would be good not only to get out of the gown she'd been wearing for nearly a week now (the _Millennium Falcon_ 's laundry functions had been working, but she still couldn't feel quite clean in the clothes she'd been wearing on the Death Star), but also to be less conspicuous for a while. 

She stared at her reflection in the small mirror provided. Wearing the robes of an office that no longer existed. Her hair still twisted into one of the juvenile styles traditionally worn by girls on Alderaan before they came of age. 

Her history lessons had taught her that in the rare occasion a monarch ascended the throne, without the protection of a regent, before coming of age (it had happened only twice in recorded history), that individual was deemed of age as of the day of coronation.

Leia started to pull pins out of her hair. She would never call herself queen, but she wouldn't pretend to be a child anymore, either. She had no one to hide behind. She was, however reluctantly, a member of the Alliance command. She bore the marks of Imperial interrogation on her body - according to Han, the places that had blistered the worst would probably leave permanent scars despite the bacta. These things had to be faced, and taking her hair down, stripping out of her senatorial gown, satisfied some of her urgent need to be moving, to be _doing_ something.

The soft, long-sleeved shirt chafed less at her healing burns than her gown had. The pants they'd left her were too long, but there were a pair of heavy military boots that mostly fit, and she could just stuff the pant legs inside. 

Her fingers tapped nervously at the pile of hair pins she'd collected. She had practiced adult styles occasionally, all girls did, but when they actually came of age someone usually taught them properly. She had no idea whether there were any Alderaanian women on base, or maybe at least women from another system with a similar enough culture.

For now, she braided her hair and pinned it all up as neatly as she could. It wasn't fancy, but it met traditional requirements at least.

There was a jacket too. She pulled it on - Yavin 4 was warm, but Colonel Rieekan had mentioned that the nights could be cool. Before leaving the room she glanced in the mirror again. Too-big jacket, slightly rumpled everything else; hair a bit too loose around her face. She looked, she thought, like a Rebel.

She looked like _Han_ , if she was honest.

Her head still ached and her eyes felt dry and raw, but she couldn't be alone, not yet. She still felt too much like - just, running. Walking briskly helped a bit, and she found her way easily enough through the maze of stone corridors down and out into the old temple's courtyard.

She had expected and feared a raucous celebration but, although it seemed most of the base was here, the tone around the edges was somber. She heard enough to realize that most of the tall tales and victory stories being told were stories of people they'd lost. Everyone seemed to be drinking, things that came in a variety of colors and out of a variety of bottles, but she saw a lot of beings who seemed to be drinking more to numb than to celebrate.

Luke, when she spotted him, seemed on the fence between celebration and mourning. He'd lost a friend from home in the attack, she remembered. One of the other Red Squadron fighters. His face as he looked down into his drink was morose -

\- whatever he was drinking was clear and colorless; _please_ let Han have stopped him from drinking fuel tank gin -

\- but he was listening to someone telling a story from inside a little knot of pilots, and when he watched the speaker his expression grew rapt. Leia's eyes scanned over the crowd, which was mostly perched on crates and boxes near a flickering torch. As her vision adjusted to the dark she picked out Chewbacca's tall, furry shape on the edge of the cluster. Of course. The speaker, mostly concealed from her view by the men around him, was Han.

Luke's expression was as worshipful now as it had been hurt and disappointed before the battle at Han's decision to leave. He'd imprinted on the older man like a baby chick, which was understandable if unfortunate. Luke had lost uncle and aunt and thrown himself into General Kenobi's mentorship as an obvious substitute, only to lose him just as quickly. Leia dreaded what would happen when Han finally made good on his promises to leave. Luke would be rudderless again, and she could only hope the Alliance itself, and his new friends among the pilots, would fill the void.

"Leia."

She started, and a mess hall tumbler filled with clear liquid appeared at her elbow. The man holding it out was a welcome sight. "Wedge," she said, accepting the glass he was trying to hand her. "I'm so glad you're all right."

Wedge Antilles had been assigned to a few of the clandestine missions she'd undertaken for her father, the ones that had been more rebellion missions than Alderaanian. By virtue of his being friendly and closer to her age than most of the experienced pilots - and, probably, by virtue of his being Corellian and less in awe of her title - they'd developed a good relationship. Good enough that he was occasionally willing, when no one else could possibly hear, to use her actual _name_. And she would not think right now about how few people were left who would do that.

"I'm so sorry. About everything," he said.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"I liked your father. Everyone did. He was - he was a good man."

She nodded.

Wedge nudged her arm and pointed to the glass. "Don't ask where that came from."

She raised it near her face and wrinkled her nose. "I don't have to. You can still smell the engine grease. Wedge, is this stuff going to kill people?"

"Blue Squadron swear they tried it last week and no one went blind. Of course, the way Blue Squadron flies . . ."

Leia rolled her eyes a little, but there was comfort in the familiar, predictable joke. She tasted the liquid, which was exactly as terrible as she'd expected. It was recognizable as gin, but only just.

"Wedge!" A man in a ground crew uniform waved, looked very obviously from Wedge to Leia, and then called out something that, even with Leia's limited understanding of modern Corellian, she recognized as a truly filthy suggestion.

Her favorite thing about it was that the man had _clearly_ not recognized her. Her second favorite thing was the color of Wedge's face.

They'd never had reason to converse in anything other than Basic. "Please tell me you don't speak Corellian," he begged.

She held up her thumb and forefinger nearly touching. "Just enough."

He swore with a colorful expression that used at least two of the words she'd just recognized. She laughed, feeling the effect either of the alcohol or the dizzy headache that had turned itself into a mild vertigo. Either way it was better than her mood before.

"For the record," he said, "I don't actually, uh. Tie people up."

"Oh, that's one of the words I didn't know," Leia said honestly.

Wedge looked as if he wanted to climb into his glass of fuel tank gin and drown himself.

Head still pleasantly spinning, she put a hand on his arm. "You've got clan here, you should go be with them. Or with that girl who wants to set me on fire, she's pretty."

"I don't want to - wait, what?" Wedge perked up and followed her gaze, but although his eyes did not leave the face of the blonde mechanic who was staring back, he said, "I shouldn't leave you."

"You should. I'm really just getting some air." She found his hand and squeezed it. "I'm glad you're here. It was good to see you."

"Are you staying with us?" he asked. 

"Yes," she replied simply. Pointing out that she had nowhere else to go would have felt ungracious, when Wedge looked so pleased.

"Maybe I'll be the one to fly you out tomorrow," he said.

"If you can still see straight."

He left her with a smile, and she took another long sip of her drink. If she held her breath it tasted slightly less like licking the inside of an X-Wing engine. 

Some of the knot of pilots around Luke, Han, and Chewie had dispersed. Maybe she would go over and talk to them. Or just sit quietly near them and hope she didn't have to talk.

"Princess."

She turned again, to see another, less familiar face. His name she couldn't remember, but he was a former senator from . . . she couldn't remember the system, either. An older man, maybe a bit older than her father ( _her father_ . . .); graying hair and moustache, slightly rheumy blue eyes, lots of medals pinned to his chest. She'd seen his face around the Senate building but wasn't sure they'd ever had an actual conversation.

He was holding out his hands, and she automatically offered her free left hand to be clasped. The protocol masters, she thought absently, would scold her for holding her drink in her right hand.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am," he was saying. She wondered - not _if_ it would be rude, but _how_ rude it would be to ask who exactly he was. "What happened to Alderaan - and the tragic loss of your parents. If there is anything I can do, my dear . . ."

She nodded, biting her lip and wishing him away. Of course the sympathy and the commiseration and the sorrys from well-meaning strangers would be coming for a long time - probably forever; but she couldn't take it now. Yet. Not when the flash of the explosion was still burned into her eyes.

He pulled her in, and she submitted to the embrace as she had so often accepted the elbow clasp or dry kiss on the cheek from so many other senators and diplomats throughout her short career. This man pulled her closer than was strictly polite, and she was fighting down her instinct to flinch before she even realized that his embrace actually was crossing the line; his hips pressed to hers where a polite collegial relationship would have dictated distance; his hands wrapping too far around her back, fingertips on the sides of her breasts.

They were in public and she was still proud, too proud to thrust him away from her and cause a scene. She disentangled gently instead, skin crawling and part of her hating the urge to keep the peace. She narrowed her eyes hard against a flare of heat. Having been in politics since she was a small but mature fifteen, this wasn't the first time an older man had taken a bit of advantage and she would not cry about it, not when she hadn't even cried about . . .

A part of her mind that seemed separate from her - distant - observed that she was growing panicky. She mumbled something, she wasn't really sure what, and fled through the crowd, around a corner of the temple where the noise in the courtyard was still audible but there was nothing in her view but dark stone walls and moonlit sky. There was a low wall separating her sanctuary from a dropoff; they were high up, here, and the tops of the trees were at even her eye level. 

She set her glass down on the wall and took deep breaths, but it didn't calm the rising urge to - _something_. Run, hit, scratch, _scream_. The sound of her own breathing in her ears grew louder, faster. 

There were footsteps behind her, and in a horrified moment she realized she shouldn't have gone off on her own when that man might be following. She turned in alarm to see who had come after her, but it was a tall, more (although recently) familiar figure, his shirt gleaming very white in the dim.

The sight was both relief and frustration. Ignoring him, she turned back around and stared out over the wall, arms crossed and breath still shallow. _Smugglers_. Never knew when to leave a person alone. Apparently.

"Are you all right?" The question sounded almost like an accusation, as if she had done something to frighten him.

She shook her head intending a dismissal of his concerns - nothing was wrong, of course she was fine - but no words came. It was something like confusion, or fever, the way her thoughts couldn't focus while adrenaline raced through her limbs.

Han's footsteps came closer and she knew without looking that he was now standing almost next to her. His intake of breath was loud in the silence that floated in her ears over the murmur from the party, but it took him a while to speak. "I like your hair like that," he finally said.

She stared over the tree line and said, "I came of age."

"Today?" he asked incredulously.

"In two weeks." She spared a look for him then. "I thought I was due an advance."

"Well. It's nice." He gestured awkwardly. "You can see your face better."

She laughed a little without really knowing why. "I - " she started to say, but stopped and pressed her lips together.

"You . . . ?"

The words burst out in a short rush. "I don't know what to -" But she didn't even know the end of the sentence, and silence filled the space between them again.

He shifted his weight; she heard the rustling of his clothes. "It's all sinking in?" he asked quietly.

 _Yes_ , said a relieved part of her mind that was just happy to have the feeling identified. But it didn't feel anything like sinking; it was an empty spot in her chest and a restless, edgy energy. Her chin went up and she stared at the stars and blurted out, "I'm afraid."

"Of the Empire?"

"No." Well, yes; but that was a constant, low fear, it was underneath and waiting. She glared down at her gin glass in accusation. She didn't want to say any of this, definitely didn't want to tell it to Han Solo of all people, but the words wouldn't stop coming now and she absolutely blamed Wedge Antilles for loosening her tongue. "I'm afraid . . ." One fist dug into her sternum. "It's all _there_ , and I'm afraid if I feel it - I won't be able to stand it."

There was a pause, and then his hand was on her far shoulder and he was turning her to face him and tugging her into a one-armed embrace. Her body tensed to react, but this was so different, this was clumsy and comfortable and safe and _oh no_ , she'd imprinted on him just like Luke. That was depressing. But there was no other explanation for how secure she felt; nothing to do but sigh at herself a bit and then bury her face in his shirt.

Her eyes were burning again, and her nose, and she told herself firmly _no, no, no_ but there was an ache in the back of her throat and her breath hitched. Han's other arm came around her at the sound, his hand covering the back of her head. He was saying something to her but it was in Corellian - she wondered if he even intended it, or if instinct had called up a memory of the nothings people said to comfort upset children. At any rate his accent was thick and her ears were sort of ringing, so the words were mostly just a gravelly murmur of nonsense syllables to her. It wasn't unpleasant.

He called her something that she was pretty sure meant "little girl," but she wasn't in any state to be offended. Instead she rubbed the bridge of her nose and tried to think about anything that might distract her from crying.

Of course, the attempt had the exact reverse effect and she ended up confessing into his shirt, "There's no one - no one I really know . . ."

"I know," he said, back in Basic but still in the same low, strangely effective soothing tone. He stepped back from her and brushed his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. "Hey. If you want - want to come back and stay on the _Falcon_ tonight?" As if he expected to be rebuffed he hastily added, "Bed's probably more comfortable wherever they put you, but if you'll be lonely . . ."

Somehow he managed not to make that sound like an indecent proposition. And after studying her expression for a moment he offered, "Luke too, if he wants to." 

She thought about the bare room in a corridor somewhere with who-knew-who, or no one at all, and thought instead about the lounge of the ship with him and Chewie and Luke within earshot, and nodded.

"Let's go find Luke," he said, a friendly hand resting just for a moment on the back of her neck.

She looked sideways at him as they walked together. "If he throws up -" she warned.

"Yeah, yeah, he's my problem." 

Tomorrow - tomorrow she'd let herself remember that he was leaving.


	3. in with both feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needing the people you just ditched is awkward. Sometimes you don't care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning for non-graphic blood.

**Part Three: Post-Evac**

There were no tears by the time Leia was hanging medals around their necks, though she looked so serious that Han couldn't help winking at her. It worked for a second - she smiled, almost a real smile - but hardly longer than that. Not that she seemed overcome by any kind of feeling, as she stood up there; later he'd even hear people commenting on her coldness. Not the pilots though, who'd lost most of a squadron and still stood applauding, or the majority of the fighters on base. Han suspected they all understood the need to bury things down deep and just go on.

Actually he suspected the ones judging her understood that, too; they just didn't expect it from a young girl. A princess.

Once the ceremony was over and the controlled chaos of evacuation was in full swing, it seemed like a good idea to Han to get himself and Chewie as out of the way as possible, to get the ship loaded and take off before there were any other diversions. There had already been a danger - a real one, and manufactured by Han himself, now that he looked back at it - that they would stick around just long enough, help out with just one thing, and get sucked in. 

Luckily, he now thought, his offer of help had been refused. The only two people on this base to whom he felt even the smallest obligation - not even obligation, he didn't actually think he _owed_ them anything, just, there were ties. Small, loose ties. A connection. But anyway, those two people didn't need him now; Luke had been given long-term custody of an X-Wing and he'd be flying himself to the new base as part of the carefully mapped out departure plan, and Leia would be traveling with the rest of the command on the giant Mon Calamari flagship with her Alderaanian colonel to keep an eye on her.

So there was nothing keeping him. 

Nothing, except Chewie's soft heart and revolutionary tendencies. Which he already knew wouldn't work on Han, so over the course of the day he'd shifted from _you could do a lot of good here_ to _that boy is like a cub sticking his neck above the treeline_ to _you know that little girl needs a friend_.

"She's got plenty of those," Han replied, looking guiltily down at the crate he was loading because he knew it wasn't true. But she had Luke, which he pointed out to his partner, and there was Rieekan to help her navigate military leadership, and at least a few sentimental Alderaanians who would adopt her soon enough.

"Luke worships her," Chewie said with an eloquent lilt to his growl. "That's not a friend."

"He'll grow out of it." Han shoved another crate into place on the freight ramp and added, "And there's the Antilles kid, he seems to like her."

" _You_ like her."

Han's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Enough, when she's being quiet. And so what? You think once she gets used to being in charge around here, she's gonna want me hanging around her?" 

"She's not as much of a snob as you want her to be."

"And you're not as much of a help with this cargo as I want you to be."

By the time Chewie relented - temporarily, Han was sure - and started hauling crates inside the ship, the princess herself was charging across the hangar. So much for being out of the way.

"So you're actually going?" she asked when she was still pretty far off.

"Said I was," Han said nonchalantly.

"I thought - I mean -" She'd reached the ship, and now that she wasn't striding at him anymore she also seemed to have run out of words. "You said that last time, too."

Han dropped the crate he was holding, loudly. "I'm sure you're not wishing I hadn't come back to save Luke from being blown to spacedust."

"Of course I'm not, I just - that was _one_ battle! Just because the Death Star is gone - he's going to be in just as much danger the next time, so are all of us. We could still use your help -"

"Yeah, well, I'm not much for being used." Picking up the crate again and shifting it onto the ramp was a good reason to turn his back on her, so he did. "He was up against that _thing_ \- and we weren't that far away yet. But I can't watch him his whole life, and I'm not joining your rebellion to do it."

"So next time you'd let us get killed."

"Sweetheart, if the only thing standing between the Empire and the rebellion is _me_ , you're in big trouble." On his way back down the ramp, he saw her eyes narrow in annoyance at his chosen form of address - but not before there was a momentary flash of something else. He didn't really know what it was, but it had been almost . . . soft.

"You couldn't just stay long enough to -" she started to protest, but Han shook his head.

"I offered to take you to the new base, and you said no. So my work here is done."

She was looking at him with the eyes now, big wounded _but-my-planet-blew-up-how-can-you-be-so-mean_ eyes (and the worst part was, she probably wasn't even doing it on purpose), but he gave himself a stern mental kick in the pants and a reminder that if he didn't appease Jabba soon, he wouldn't be around for sad girls to look wounded at. Or any other way either.

She had stepped up onto the ramp. He looked down at their feet and said, "This is it, either you get off or you're coming with us."

She jumped off the ramp as if it were hot lava, which would have been sort of funny if it hadn't been sort of insulting. "You're not saying goodbye to Luke?" she asked.

"Did."

She drew herself up to her full height, such as it was, face closed off now, and said, "Well. Don't think we can't do without you."

Stung - by her argumentative approach, by her deliberate coldness, by her refusal to say anything about whether she herself wanted him around - he shot back, "Ditto, Your Highness," and ignored the look on her face as he boarded the ship.

Tried to ignore it, anyway. 

Getting away was fine until it all went to hell.

It wasn't enough that they got boarded by pirates after a week, that he lost most of Jabba's payment - _again_ \- but then he was humiliated, sore, bitter, and he got careless, and Chewie was mad and worried about Jabba and he was more careless than usual, too, and they made an ill-advised landing in an ill-advised gangland spaceport, and then there were not only two competing, small time, trigger-happy bounty hunters but also an Imperial raid. And then things really got ugly.

Blasters were pulled, and used, and used a lot, and Chewie was all protective wrath but he wasn't invincible, and by the time they made it back onto the _Falcon_ Han didn't have a scratch on him but he was splashed with blood and most of it was Chewie's.

He rambled platitudes as they took off, mumbling "you'll be fine you'll be fine you'll be fine," but getting to the ship had taken most of what Chewie had left and he wasn't really hearing. So Han pored alone over the maps and system charts, looking desperately for a medical center big enough to handle a Wookiee - and not likely to ask questions or turn them over for the bounty. There was nothing. They were near a good enough number of systems, but many were so small that they held only thinly established colonies or isolated manufacturing operations, no large hospitals or medcenters. The only exceptions were an Imperial base - _no_ , for obvious reasons - and the flagship hospital of the Imperial Medical Research Brigades. Equally _no_ , though it was ironic they were next door to probably the best medical treatment in the galaxy and couldn't dare take advantage of it.

At the edge of the magnified map sat a little planet whose name Han had heard very recently.

_Also no_ , he thought first, _that bridge is burned_. But the Rebel Alliance had bacta tanks and the Rebel Alliance was used to battle injuries and the Rebel Alliance had nonhumanoid members and doctors who knew how to treat them. And the Rebel Alliance's new base was an hour away by lightspeed.

Dizzy with adrenaline, Han punched in the coordinates and made the jump. Leia's anger would be blistering and she'd be in the right even maybe, but Chewie was bleeding all over the place and there was no other choice he would make. He'd take Leia's righteous temper over letting Chewie die, any day.

She'd given him clearance passwords, back when she was hoping he'd change his mind and stay; and then Rieekan had taken him aside and said _she won't admit it but she hopes you come back_ and slipped him the passwords on a flimsi.

(They were the same, he'd checked. So she had given him the real ones at least.)

He could barely keep his voice from shaking when he was hailed by Alliance security, but managed to give the codes. "This is the _Millennium Falcon_ ," he stammered. "I'm known to the command - uh - we've been in a fight - bad fight - got a severely injured Wookiee on board, requesting medical services, emergency medical services . . ."

There was a long crackling pause before the operator replied. " _Millennium Falcon_ , you are cleared for landing." Pause. "Medical team standing by."

Regardless of the awkwardness, Han was giddy with relief by the time he touched down. He mumbled something to Chewie, who gave no answer, and lowered the ramp, rushing out to find himself greeted by Colonel Rieekan, a woman and man both in doctors' white coats, and a team shepherding a hoverstretcher. They all looked hastily pulled together, one of the doctors wearing a nightgown and camouflage pants under her coat. Han remembered it would be the middle of the night on this world.

"Inside," he said shakily, all the adrenaline flooding back now that they were _here_ , now that there was a team ready to see whether Chewie could be healed. "Inside . . ."

The medics vanished into the ship and Han was faced with Rieekan. He tried to say something but the older man just reached out and shook his hand, which Han hadn't quite offered, and said, "We've got a new medic who's used to larger species. Chewbacca will be in good hands."

Han scrubbed his hand over his face. "That's - thank you, that's -"

"I commed the princess in her quarters," Rieekan said, and oh hell, he probably thought that would be comforting. For some reason he seemed to believe they were friends, rather than two people thrown temporarily together by a terrifying escape.

But Han didn't have time to say anything before he noticed her coming - practically running - across the landing bay. She was in what looked like multiple layers of nightclothes with half-laced boots, her hair in two long braids down her back. She must have been in an incredible hurry to yell at him.

He was prepared to defend himself and argue Chewie's need, and when instead of yelling she threw her arms around his neck - stretching on her toes to do it - at first he hugged her back just because he was startled. Then he caught sight, over her head, of the medics hovering Chewie out of the _Falcon_ and he folded, clutching her so tightly that he thought he must be breaking her in half, but she just held on.

When she did pull away, it was to run her hands over his shoulders and demand, "Where are you hurt?"

"I'm not," he said, looking down at the blood staining his shirt. "I'm not, it's just - just Chewie, he got it all - I have to follow them -"

"Of course," she said, "come on," and she took his elbow and led him as if he couldn't follow the med team on his own. He was so shaky that he was grateful. "He'll be fine," Leia continued as they walked. "We have two bacta tanks large enough for beings of his size. We made sure after the skirmish on Cal 10."

He had no idea what she was talking about, but her low, sleep-rough voice was familiar and therefore comforting. 

"Is Luke here?" he asked.

"He's been out on a patrol," Leia replied. "This planet - it's not the best for a permanent base, we're too close to some manufacturing systems that the Empire patrols regularly. There are some geographic features that make it easy to hide, but we're constantly sending pilots out to orbit the planet and watch for Imperial traffic. It's been all right so far but we're still looking for a longer-term solution." She was talking very fast, almost as if she were nervous. "I left a message for Luke. He should be getting back soon and he'll come find us."

_Us_ , Han thought.

The medical facility was dark and dank - it looked as if they might be inside a cave, actually - but there were heat lamps making it warm and the equipment itself looked . . . if not new, then at least serviceable and up-to-date. When Han and Leia caught up, one doctor was bending over Chewie with a scanner while the other was examining a wound in his side. She gave some instructions to the nearest medic in a language Han didn't recognize, then spotted Han and came toward him, peeling off bloodied gloves.

"I do want to get him fully immersed," she said. "Given the number of distinct wounds, that will reduce our risk of infection, and the sedative effect will help him heal, too. We'll have him in the tank for an hour or two, at least."

Behind her, the medics were hovering Chewie away again. "Where's the tank?" Han asked.

"Around that corner. You're welcome to wait there, although as I say it will be a while. I'm going to go and get the breathing apparatus fitted now." With a sympathetic smile, she turned to go in the direction she'd indicated.

Han started to follow her, but Leia had a hand on his arm. "You should go back to the ship and get cleaned up," she said. "Change your shirt."

"I'm not leaving," he protested, impatient to follow where they had taken his partner.

"It will upset him," Leia said. "If he wakes up, and sees you covered in blood. He'll worry, and he'll start roaring around and undo all the healing."

Han was panicked with the need to stay with Chewie and make sure he was being cared for properly, but she had a point. "We'll see him into the bacta," she said gently, her hand still on his sleeve. "Then we'll go back to the _Falcon_ , I'll come with you."

He nodded roughly, and headed the way the doctor had pointed. The two large bacta tanks were at the end of a wide chamber, lit from behind and accompanied only by monitoring equipment and two benches along the wall. A droid was checking levels on one of the tanks, which was filling quickly, while the doctor and another droid were fitting a mask over Chewie's mouth and slowly easing him into the open back of the tank.

Han watched in silence as the bacta filled the tank, eventually catching Chewie in its buoyancy. When the tank was almost full, he said quietly, "Thought you'd be mad."

It took Leia a second to respond, as if she hadn't realized he was talking to her. "Mad?"

"That I came back. Asking for help. After . . ."

"Oh." She was looking at the tank, not at him, her brow furrowed. "I'm not mad."

"Really?"

An indicator flashed at the top of the tank, and something gave a long, low beep. The doctor, the droid with her, and the hover stretcher disappeared through a door in the back wall, while the monitoring droid continued to take readings. "Vital signs acceptable," the droid declared. "Immersion treatment commenced."

"Come on now," Leia said. He wanted to complain about her being bossy, but her voice was soft and he was so, so tired that it was easy just to follow her. Adrenaline was leaving him in floods, leaving nothing but exhaustion behind.

They got maybe halfway back to the landing bay in silence, and then Leia said, suddenly, "I'm mad that you left."

That was not a surprise. "Yeah, I got that," he said.

"But not that you came back. I'm glad you did - I'm glad we can help Chewie."

He only nodded in response, even though she wasn't looking at him. In the relief of having Chewie's welfare taken off his hands, his composure was getting harder to maintain.

"I'd want us to help you. If it was you," she continued. She was resolutely not looking at him now, but it was still the closest she'd ever come to admitting any personal concern for him. It was kind of nice.

She followed him right up onto the ship like maybe she didn't trust him to clean up on his own - and maybe she had a point, because he saw bloody footprints on the floor of the deck and he reached the bench in the lounge, where Leia had slept those first nights after the Death Star, and just sat down hard.

He hadn't noticed that she had a comm with her, but she was murmuring into it. "Han," she said, voice slightly sharper to get his attention. "Give the maintenance droids clearance to access the ship."

"No?" he said. He didn't really mean to be unsure. He was grateful - so grateful - for their help, but no way was he letting the Alliance treat his ship as their property.

"They'll come in and clean up," Leia said, gentle but firm, and oh. That he understood. Tiredly he grabbed her wrist and pulled the comm closer to his mouth, mumbling the necessary access codes.

She wandered toward his cabin then, which he probably should have protested, but right now he could care less. She'd spent long enough on the _Falcon_ that she was able to come back a few minutes later with a clean shirt, presumably from the cupboard in his cabin, and a handful of something else that turned out to be a lukewarm wet cloth. While he was unbuttoning the stained shirt, she started dabbing at the side of his face.

He winced. "Do I really have -"

"Some." She moved the cloth across his forehead in smooth but hard strokes. "Looks like maybe you had blood on your hand, or your arm, and you wiped it across your face."

He must have looked like the last survivor in a horror-vid. No wonder she'd insisted he had to clean up. No wonder everyone had been treating him like a shock patient. 

"Shirt on," Leia reminded him, as she wiped. He'd gone half to sleep with the old shirt off and the new one in his lap.

He forced a smile. "Women aren't usually telling me to put my clothes _on_."

"Well, you're feeling better," Leia muttered. She rubbed maybe harder than necessary at a spot on his forehead, and Han cringed away.

"Ow."

"Done." She studied his face with a frown. "You'll do."

"Well _thanks_ , princess."

He was feeling better (a bit) until he walked through the ship and saw all the blood again, and then his feet sort of automatically sped up. Leia was saying something about going to her room, and for a moment he just felt sort of confused and mildly betrayed that she was leaving him, but then he realized she was talking about getting dressed, and yeah. It was just about morning now and he could hardly expect her to stay in her nightclothes all day.

Chewie was still floating unresponsive in the bacta tank when he returned. "Hey," he called to the monitor droid. "How's he doing?"

"Vital signs remain acceptable."

Well, that was about the best he could expect. Nursing droids sometimes had an empathy circuit, but this guy was clearly here to run the machinery. "Is he healing?" Han asked.

"Scans indicate healing rate within average range."

So - all right. Han sat down on the end of one of the benches where he could watch the tank, and spent a while trying not to think about what it would be like to have Chewie's life debt completed like this. Killed in a hail of blaster fire for no good reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

He heard footsteps from around the corner before long - Leia, tidy now in what looked like pants that were actually hers and a Rebel uniform jacket that was too big; her braids pinned up in the same no-frills way as that first night on Yavin 4. She was carrying a tray with a metal mess hall mug on it and possibly a large plate of something.

"They're serving breakfast," she explained, setting the tray down on the bench next to him. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday?"

"Yesterday on what world?" She picked up the mug and sort of forced his hands around it. It was warm, at least. "Drink anyway, it'll keep you awake."

He didn't really need any help with that, not with Chewie still unconscious, but he took a sip before putting it down because it gave him something to do.

"How is he?" Leia asked.

Han chorused in unison with the monitor droid, "Vital signs remain acceptable."

"How often are you scanning?" she asked the droid.

"Monitoring is constant. Ma'am."

Han snorted a bit at that and even Leia did, too. Clearly the droid had some kind of protocol circuit grafted on after the fact.

Leia was standing close to him, and he was thinking about that night on Yavin 4 when he'd found her alone, anxiety coming off her in waves, and she'd let him hold her for a while (sometimes he couldn't decide what had been weirder, the fact that she'd let him or the fact that he'd wanted to). Anyway that was his excuse for, when she tentatively put a hand on his shoulder, pulling her closer with both arms around her waist and leaning his head against her belly. He had to bend a little even from his seated position, but he was pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate his face in her breasts. She might shoot him for this as it was.

She didn't shoot him, but there was a pause where he thought she might be deciding. Then she very hesitantly lifted a hand to his head, as if either unsure what to do or unsure of how it would be received. "He's going to be fine," she said eventually. "And he'll probably think the worst part is getting all that bacta slime out of his fur."

Han laughed but was dangerously close to crying instead. "I never wanted . . ." he began. For some reason it felt important to explain this, although he doubted Leia would be awkwardly stroking her fingers through his hair in sympathy if she thought he saw Chewie as some kind of bodyguard slave. "I don't want him to get hurt instead of me."

For just a second Leia seemed to hold him closer to her. "Imagine if you'd been wounded saving his life, though," she said. "He'd be declaring a second life debt. I don't know how you'd manage it."

"I'd still do it," he said, even though he knew she was trying to tease him out of his despairing mood.

"Yeah, I know."

"Hey, how's Chewie?"

Leia turned, and Han looked up, at the sound of Luke's voice, but although she stepped to Han's side at the end of the bench she did keep one arm across his shoulders. He'd really expected her to pull away completely.

"Ask the monitor," Leia said dryly.

Luke looked - good. Tired but bouncing with energy, eager but in a slightly modulated, older way. Maybe a tiny bit more mature. Joining the Alliance forces had been better for him than Han had feared. "How is he?" he repeated directly to the droid.

Which never seemed to get tired of giving that same answer. "Vital signs remain acceptable . . ." This time there was a longer pause and a faint whirring from the droid's visual receptors as he processed Luke's insignia-free flight suit. ". . . sir."

Luke dropped onto the bench on the other side of the untouched tray of food and let the helmet he was carrying fall to the floor. Han felt a flash of gratitude - the kid must have come running the second he was cleared.

"Your patrol?" Leia asked. Her arm was still warm across Han's shoulders and he kind of couldn't believe that was lasting this long.

"Fine. No sign of . . . anything. At all. Kind of boring." Luke's eyes were sparkling despite his claim of boredom.

Leia apparently had his number. "You love flying around with nothing to do," she said.

"Well - yeah." Luke grinned. "I did get to practice some command maneuvers with Wedge."

"Good, _that_ you need."

"Why?" Han asked.

"Oh -"

"Oh, don't tell him about that," Luke groaned.

Leia was laughing a little. "Where to start? That he can pilot anything and hit almost any target, but when his squadron leader tells him to bank left, he goes right? That he thinks 'up' means directly over his head, regardless of how his nose is pointed?"

"I'm not used to flying and following orders at the same time," Luke grumbled. "I'm working on it." He reached for a slice of some kind of fruit off the breakfast tray, which made Han feel a bit possessive, which was probably - judging from his grin - exactly Luke's intention.

Han ignored this and took a bite of something purple. He'd expected fruit, but it turned out to be a tuber. Now that he was paying attention, it looked like Leia, or the mess hall personnel, had put some of pretty much everything on the tray.

Her arm slid from his shoulders and she went around to sit next to Luke, close enough that their upper arms were touching. Luke picked up some sort of muffin, broke it in half and handed half to her, and Han realized he was now feeling possessive of _Leia_. Which was ridiculous. She and the kid had been on base together for a month now. It made sense they'd get closer.

And also he didn't actually _want_ her in the first place. Right.

"What's this?" he asked, gesturing with a fork at a square whitish something.

"It's good, no one can decide if it's some kind of cheese or a plant, and we're all afraid asking the cook would be offensive," Leia said.

"There's a rumor that someone in ground maintenance asked once, but I'm pretty sure they're lying," Luke added.

Leia leaned her head a bit against Luke's shoulder - Han felt a little guilty, realizing he'd woken her in the middle of the night and she must be tired - but she was looking at Han and she gave him a slow, brilliant smile.

The two of them, comfortable and friendly and both grinning at him, and Chewie in the bacta . . . Han sighed. "Well," he said, looking directly at Leia now, "we're gonna owe you guys big for this. Guess we'll be sticking around for a while."


	4. ready to run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing quite happens, but Leia's still not ready.

**Part Four: In the Downtime**

 

Life at the new base settled into a rhythm. 

Leia woke at the same time every morning out of habit, even though usually no one wanted her for anything that early. She'd taken to going for a run around the perimeter; although as a child she'd trained in a variety of traditional fighting techniques and had worked hard at it, full-time politics hadn't afforded a lot of time for exercise. Now she was living on a military base (haphazard as it may be) and surrounded by professional fighters and pilots, and she felt soft.

Also, this planet was temperate and the forest was lovely in the early morning. On their second week there, tiny pink flowers had erupted on many of the trees, and there were little birds building nests.

The crates of her things from Coruscant had caught up with her as well, and that gave her something else to do. Mon Mothma and the rest of the command were interested in the classified Senate documents she'd held - and she figured they couldn't fairly be considered classified if the Senate no longer existed; plus she was actually a traitor already anyway - but Leia spent hours poring over her personal items as well, deciding what few things to keep and what needed to be donated or sold. 

It wasn't exactly practical to keep everything, she'd explained to Luke when he asked about the project that kept her buried in her quarters. Not when she lived on a base that could be evacuated or relocated at any moment. She'd keep anything she really needed, and some things of particular sentimental value, and that was it. Ceremonial robes and jewels were hardly useful to her anymore, and much of her jewelry was unrecognizable enough to be sold.

Han had wandered over to their lunch table at this point in the conversation, breaking in with, "You think they expect you to finance the whole Rebellion on your own?"

"It's not for the Rebellion," Leia replied, lifting her chin a fraction. "I've started a fund for survivors. From Alderaan. Most of them were offworld on brief trips, and they have nothing left but what they had with them."

"I doubt they expect you to support them out of your own pocket," Han'd said, breaking a roll in half with hands that still had streaks of engine grease on the backs.

"They paid taxes," Leia had told him. "Who else should support them but me? They've earned their share."

Han had only looked at her, with a look she couldn't figure out.

It was Han she sought out on a lot of mornings, after running until she couldn't breathe and then washing and putting her hair up as slowly as she could stand, then reading datapads over breakfast, even if she had to read the news and pretend it was work. Not that she would ever admit she went looking for Han. But everyone else would fuss over her and then try to dismiss her, or else salute and report something and then stand stiffly until she left. Han would yell something in her direction occasionally, and otherwise pretty much ignore her. Which allowed her to perch near the _Falcon_ , listen to him and Chewie tinkering, and pretend she had a purpose there.

It was almost perfect.

"Do you know what's wrong with this?" Han asked one morning as she approached casually, hoping it looked as if she were just stopping for a polite hello on her way to somewhere else.

He had something squarish in his hands with wires sticking out all over it. Leia knew a fair amount about ships and their parts, but he'd made so many modifications to the _Falcon_ that gods only knew what he was holding. 

"It's supposed to be attached to the ship?" she guessed.

He stalked closer and did something to the thing in his hands so that it opened into two pieces like a clamshell. The inside had an odd texture; it was sort of fuzzy and . . . green.

"Is that _moss_?" she asked.

He gave the . . . part an emphatic shake in her direction. "No more rainforest planets!"

"I'm not really in charge of that," she said. 

"Well, if you want a working ship for your next supply mission, you'll tell whoever _is_ in charge." He tossed the thing onto a nearby crate and started rummaging in the one beside it. "What are you in charge of today, then?"

She thought about telling him it was classified, then shrugged it off and said, "You know. Everything."

He barked a short humorless laugh, then looked up at her with a piercing, suddenly observant expression. "Are you _hiding_?"

"No. From what?" In retrospect, leading with the question might have been more convincing. Also, not nervously folding her hands because she had nothing to do with them.

"Them. Whoever. The inner sanctum." He emerged from the crate with a rag that was more grease than cloth. "The Empire?"

He was mostly ignoring her while he tried to scrub the moss out of his . . . whatever, so she replied honestly. "I just need to look like I'm doing something."

"Huh." That was all for some time as he fiddled with the part, then touched two of the exposed wires together. Nothing happened, which she guessed was not the ideal outcome. He set the thing aside and found her again with his searching gaze. "Aren't you running things?"

"I'm in the meetings," she said, hating the defensive tone that crept into her voice. "I - give my opinion."

"I bet."

She barely managed not to roll her eyes at him, because she was pretty sure he enjoyed it. "But I don't have a _job_ ," she admitted. "Something I have to do, that someone else isn't already taking care of. There's nothing anyone expects me to do but show up."

"Huh," he said again, then turned to fiddle with something in an open panel on the outside of the ship. "Hand me that wrench, would you?"

She looked - there was a dropcloth laid out on the floor and an array of at least nine wrenches spread across it, all differing only marginally from each other as far as she could tell. "Which one?"

"The - that one."

He seemed to be gesturing at - all of them. She picked one up at random and handed it to him.

Han squinted at it, said, "Close enough," and began loosening a bolt.

"If you need -"

"Eh." He put his shoulders into it for a moment, until the bolt began to move. "Think it's gonna change?"

"The wrench?"

"Yeah. By itself." He threw her a look over his shoulder. "The Grand Command, think they'll let you actually do something?"

"If I keep asking. Maybe." She brushed an imaginary loose hair out of her face. "Which I am."

"Well," he said as he pulled himself up onto the ladder on the side of the ship, the heave coming through in his voice. "I'm sure you'll come up with something you can improve."

Somehow it didn't sound like he really meant "improve".

"I'm not here to be symbolic," she said. Or, she didn't add, because she had nowhere else to go.

"There's one with a red grip," he said in reply.

She found the wrench he meant and went up on her toes to hand it to him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Shields have gotten gappy. Which is fine as long as the Imperials only aim where the shields are good. Uh, swap me for the one with the thingies."

Oddly enough, she could actually tell which one he meant. It seemed to have extra teeth. "Did you get hit making the run last week?" she asked as she stretched to pass it over.

"No, it's happening because the -" His words grew choppy as he put more effort into forcing a gear to turn. "- power's being diverted by a temperamental motivator. And there's moss in the damn system."

"Ah."

"Want to help?"

"Yes," she said simply.

"If you hand me things I don't have to keep getting up and down. Just watch I don't drop a wrench on your head."

Seemed like it would be easier for him to watch that, but all right. "What now?" she asked.

"See that panel next to the one that's open?"

"Yes?"

"Kick it as hard as you can."

Leia paused. "Are you putting me on?"

"No, really." He looked down with a lazy grin. "I'd've said hit it, but. . . ."

"Right." She took a deep breath, backed up a bit to give herself a proper start, and slammed the sole of her foot into the panel as hard as she could. "Did something happen?"

"Uh - try again, lower."

Still not entirely convinced that he wasn't making fun of her, she placed another hard kick lower on the panel. This time, something clicked.

"Aha!" Han said up on the ladder.

"That was good?"

"Yeah, it swelled up and got out of whack."

She frowned up at him. "Should I be worried that your ship can be kicked back together?"

"Just the outside paneling." 

"Oh, just the part that separates you from open space." She peered up, then realized it looked like she was ogling him as he bent over his repairs, and quickly dropped her eyes to the floor. "And Chewie. Where is he, anyway?"

"Uh . . ." He was focused on his work, and took a while to turn his attention to her and answer. "Over in the other hangar. They were having some trouble with those old landspeeders and he offered to help."

"That was nice of him."

"Yeah, s'what Wookiees are known for. Can you - uh -" He looked down at her, back at the panel he'd been working on, and down to her again. "Climb on up here. And bring that clamp."

She gave him what must have been a skeptical look.

Han stepped to the side of the ladder so that he was half hanging off. "Come on, I need an extra hand to hold this clump of wires out of the way."

She cradled the heavy clamp against her body and tentatively started to climb up (keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the side of the ship). "Chewie would do this if he were here?" she asked, pretty sure that she was calling his bluff.

"Chewie wouldn't need the ladder," he said, grinning down at her as she climbed.

Which was an obvious exaggeration, but, fine. She allowed herself a laugh. 

"Here, pass me that," he said as she was obviously struggling to climb the ladder with the clamp in her arms. She passed it up and then finished climbing much more quickly, stepping a few rungs higher than he was so that they were for once on eye level.

Actually she was a little taller. It was nice.

"Okay, here -" He started to hand the clamp back to her and wobbled on the one foot he had on the ladder, falling against the side of the ship.

"Don't fall," she said out of genuine alarm, before she could stop herself.

He gave her a knowing sort of grin, the kind that she hated and that made her face a little warm all at the same time. "Your Highness is worried about me? I'm touched."

"You're touched all right," she muttered, embarrassed at the way her face was still flushing.

He was still grinning as he put the clamp into her hands and edged sideways into her space. It was maddening. "Here," he said, "can you clamp these off and hold it -"

She saw the cluster of wiring he meant and the obviously scorched and damaged part beneath that he was trying to get at. "Yeah." The angle was difficult and she had a hard time getting the whole clump out of the way.

"Try - wait, hold on . . ." He put one arm behind and around her, grabbing the end of the clamp and helping her to manipulate it. While he was holding it for her, she grasped the loose wires with her hand and fed them directly into the teeth of the clamp.

"There," she said, turning her head to him in triumph. "I've got it now."

"All right," he said. He was very close, in a way she'd never experienced because their faces weren't usually on the same level. It struck her that she had instinctively looked at his mouth. She'd known him for two months, and it was the first time she'd wondered if he'd like to kiss her.

Not right now, necessarily. Just in general.

Not that she'd let him.

In a minute her face would be burning again. She turned back to the open panel in an effort to hide it. "You can let go," she stressed.

"All right," he said again, releasing the clamp and taking his arm back. He gave a little cough. "Hold it there."

"I _am_."

"All right, all right." He touched a pair of pliers to the scorched part, and the result was a bright burst of spark and a crackling bang that Leia could almost feel even though she wasn't touching any of the metal. Han jumped, letting the pliers fall into the open panel and letting out a stream of curses in Basic and then Corellian. 

"Are you hurt?" Leia asked.

He didn't answer, continuing instead to mutter in Corellian as he retrieved the dropped pliers. This time at least nothing exploded when he started working.

Leia didn't realize she was smiling until he looked up at her and asked, "What?"

She looked quickly away, mentally cursing the loose strands of hair that fell into her face and that she didn't have a free hand to fix. "I like your Corellian," she admitted. It was true - somehow his voice was warmer in his native language.

"If you understood my Corellian, you must have had an interesting education," he said. 

"Well, some of those words I learned from Wedge, not at university."

"Gonna have a talk with Wedge about where he's been taking you on planetside missions," he grumbled. "Oh, here." He freed his left hand from the ship's innards and brushed back her loose hair. 

"Thanks," she said softly.

He gave her a half-smile and then said something in his own language that included the words "wire" (or some variation thereof) and . . . "high"? and finished with the diminutive _small thing_ that actually sounded sort of cute in Corellian. It would have been cuter if it hadn't been (probably) referring to her.

Taking a guess, she strained to lift the clump of wiring higher.

Han put a hand on hers and repeated some of what he'd said, this time stressing one of the words and then adding, " _Left_."

"Oh." With a twist of her wrist she was able to tilt the whole thing. "Better?"

"Yep." Busy with the pliers, he didn't look up at her as he asked, "You really studied Corellian in university?"

"A little, but it was mostly High Corellian. _The Shipyard Master_ , things like that."

"Oh, the practical stuff." He nudged her arm and she moved the wires as far to the left as she could. "Actually I always liked _The Shipyard Master_. It had more action than most of the stuff they made us read in school."

Leia realized, to her shame, that she hadn't pictured him going to school at all. He must have, he could obviously read and was intelligent and reasonably well informed, and you didn't get to the Imperial Academy without some kind of under-school record. Still, it was hard to picture him having even that much of a normal childhood. She'd somehow imagined him actually growing up on smuggling ships like a pirate's apprentice.

"Plus," he added, "I got dates to at least five town dances in my teens by reciting the love ballad from book ten."

And the galaxy made sense again.

"Hey, you two."

Hearing the exuberant voice from down on the ground, Leia peered under the crook of her elbow until she found her friend standing below. "Luke! When did you get back?" He wasn't carrying his flight helmet, so for once he hadn't come straight from the cockpit.

"Maybe twenty minutes ago. I had to report to Madine."

Han twisted around on the ladder. "Hey, kid."

"You get the shields fixed?" Luke asked.

"Almost. I got good help." One of Han's hands landed gently on top of Leia's head for a moment. It was a surprisingly soft and fond touch - and he'd even put the pliers down first.

None of those things were really a good reason for Leia's stomach to feel nervous, but it suddenly did.

"Can you two take a break and come have lunch with me?"

"Sure," Han said easily. He nudged Leia. "Leave that clamped and just lean it - there."

His hand brushed her back as he stepped aside to let her down the ladder first, and for a second - such a short moment that she didn't even really understand it - she somehow knew why her stomach felt this way, why she felt a little shaky and unsure and . . . not afraid. Quite. But something like that.

Then her feet touched the ground and she took three big steps and wrapped her arms around Luke, and a familiar sense of comfort washed through her and erased her nerves. These were her friends - the people who'd saved her, who'd _stayed_ with her (despite Han's original intentions) and given her an anchor and a sounding board and a way to feel less alone. They didn't make her nervous.

The three of them made their way toward the mess hall with Leia's arm threaded through Luke's, while he filled her and Han in on his scouting mission to the most distant moon of the next system over. Leia herself had signed off on the mission, which the command had decided was important despite the general belief there was little to no intelligent life there. It would be a bad thing to be wrong about, if they started using the area as a gathering point for the fleet.

"Thought there was nothing there but the rathtars," Han said as they walked.

"Wait, I thought everyone was joking about the rathtars," Leia said, looking worriedly between him and Luke.

"No one jokes about rathtars," Han intoned.

"Well, we didn't run into any," Luke said, patting the hand that Leia had on his elbow. "Or anything else. Place was more boring than the desert during sandstorm season."

In the mess they found Wedge Antilles, still in his flight suit, occupying an otherwise empty table. "Hey, Your Highness," he called as they approached. "Luke tell you about the rathtars we fought?" His grin nearly split his face.

Leia smacked Luke's arm.

"Ow," he whined. "What are you hitting _me_ for?"

"You're both the worst," she said.

Han settled onto a seat at the table, saying, "So it's your fault I can't hide my filthy language in Corellian anymore around her?"

Wedge winked at Leia as she took a seat beside Han, then he rattled off a long speech that she didn't understand more than two words of (and one of those two words was "and"). She figured she was supposed to play along, so she said, "Not in front of Luke."

" _What_ have you been teaching her?" Han asked, and his horrified look was well worth the game.

Leia cracked first, laughing as she admitted, "I have no idea what any of that was."

" _Good_ ," said Han with really a hilarious amount of primness.

"What did he -" she started to ask, but Han just shook his head.

"I am not telling you!"

Wedge was in hysterics.

Meanwhile, Luke was looking affronted in his own spot next to Wedge. "Wedge," he said, turning the name into two syllables. "I thought some of that stuff was just between us. You told me I was the only one!"

Han gaped; but Luke had a tell and Leia was already bent over the table with laughter at the look of feigned innocence on his farmboy face. Wedge clapped Luke on the back so hard that the younger man almost banged his chin on the table, but he was laughing by now, too.

"And people think I'm a bad influence," Han grumbled. His sternness lasted about five more seconds before it melted into a smile that he turned on Leia to devastating effect. Her stomach dropped again even though she was still laughing.

She was getting ready for bed that night when she finally put a finger on the nervous, unsettled feeling that had been troubling her all day - and not for the first time. She'd been thinking about Han as she brushed her hair out, thinking about helping him again the next day and how he'd said the shields were almost fully repaired. The thought was a happy one, something to do and someone to spend the day with (unless a command meeting were called); and then the thought of him trying to kiss her jumped into her mind and her stomach suddenly felt as though she were on a crashing fighter.

 _I'm not afraid of him_ , she thought, probing the idea like pressing experimentally on a bruise to see if it hurt. And she really wasn't. On the contrary, it was almost embarrassing how safe she felt around Han, how much she trusted him. So . . .

And not to mention, she was pretty sure Luke did want to kiss her (whether he ever would was a completely different story) and that didn't make her nervous at all. It only reminded her of the boys from school back home - not that all Alderaanian schoolboys were so innocuous, but the ones who were allowed near Leia certainly were.

 _Oh. Oh._ She felt a funny detachment as everything clicked into place, as neatly as if she'd actually talked to one of those counsellors in medical bay.

Luke was so much like those boys who'd taken her on sanctioned walks through formal gardens or sat next to her at dinners. They hadn't all been shy or innocent, but they had been polite and they had respected the rules. Society framed their encounters and tradition filled in the details. They'd offered a hand or an arm but never taken hers unasked. A couple of them had kissed her on the cheek, one or two even lingering as if they actually liked her; and a very few had even kissed her, briefly and chastely, on the lips. 

She'd liked them enough, but not enough to want to rebel. The rules weren't oppressive; they were safe. They kept anyone from asking more than she wanted to give.

Luke was like that, even though the rules were probably technically gone.

Han . . . was not like that.

He was an adult man, and not one of the rules of Leia's carefully managed adolescence applied to him. Men his age - men like him - they didn't kiss like teenagers, as an end in itself. If he did want to kiss her, he'd be wanting a lot more besides.

It wasn't that she was against the idea. It just hadn't occurred to her that she might need to be ready for that, just yet. Something in her had probably still been waiting for it to be preceded by a six-month formal engagement.

But the rules were dead, and that was - that was all right. She could adjust to knowing that all sorts of things were allowed now. 

Han, though . . . Han, her tentative friend and sometime rescuer, she liked and trusted and felt safe enough to tease and to fight with. But Han, the big and lanky _man_ with a history and a suggestive smile, an obvious physicality and warmth and an increasingly familiar smell - he made her feel shaky and nervous and _not quite ready for this_.

And it was incredibly unfair that she could feel simultaneously so _not ready_ and yet so lonely, sometimes, that she wanted to lay her head on his chest and ask him to hold her the way he had on Yavin.

Leia finally fell asleep biting the side of her finger, her hand falling curled onto the pillow beside her head.


	5. in step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's a lovely girl, but she's also really, really good with a blaster. Also, Leia meets her second Wookiee and things get a little weird.

**Part Five: ABY**

The mission went to hell, because of course it did.

Though that made it sound as if their missions usually went to hell, which wasn't true. A lot of them went just fine, with no fighting (other than bickering amongst themselves) and no casualties (other than Han's sanity). It just seemed sometimes like things were always getting messed up, just because they never went exactly the way they were supposed to. The _Falcon_ put down in a swamp, which somehow, improbably, led to the electrical system almost catching fire. Leia's contact didn't speak Basic, and they had to wait while a translator could be found (no one ever mentioned this to C-3PO, who had missed that trip). Or the leader of an Outer Rim system somehow got the idea that Leia's offer to join the Alliance included a marriage offer.

For Han, who'd been counting on a spectacular reaction from Leia to that last one (at least it would have been entertaining), her measured and diplomatic response had been incredibly disappointing.

So, obviously, he teased her about it the whole way back to the base.

"Eighteen sister-wives!" he called from the cockpit. "Don't tell me you didn't always want sisters."

This was fun until Leia appeared in the cockpit doorway, datapad in hand, and looked up from it exactly long enough to say, "I do wonder how he manages to keep so many women happy, when some men can't even manage one."

Advantage: Princess. It was her prim schoolgirl tone that really sold it.

Leia was always acting like she didn't want him assigned to her missions, but he'd see the flash of relief on her face every time assignments were handed out. Either she preferred his company to that of any of the other freighter or passenger ship pilots they had, or she felt safest with him (or with the _Falcon_ ). He figured it was a compliment either way.

(If he asked her, no doubt she'd say the _Falcon_ was scruffy enough not to stand out in the questionable places they had to go, and that his involvement was a necessary evil.)

It was fun for them, him and the princess. He hoped it was fun for her, anyway; that arch smile of hers made it seem like it was. He'd learned early on how quick she was, that she got real delight from firing back at him when he teased her - and that lots of other people on base didn't even understand her half the time, she was too quick for them. Han might not have been university-educated, but he was pretty quick himself. 

And Leia glowed whenever she realized she'd made him laugh. It actually made her look like a happy young girl.

So even though she got under his skin sometimes, and he knew they'd spend half the time trying to get out of yet another awkward situation - even though something bizarre was actually guaranteed to happen - he was willing to fly for her.

Plus, she was safer with him, whether she thought so or not. Well, him and Chewie.

This mission, though.

The sight of a strange Wookiee in the marketplace, acting shifty and trying to look casual, should have been the first sign of trouble. Han said _should have been_ because they all thought it _was_ and went immediately on guard, but actually the Wookiee had very little to do with anything else that happened. He was just there, looking shifty.

Chewbacca sidled in his direction, all of them silently hoping the sight of _two_ Wookiees in the market wouldn't attract too much more attention than one. "Is it common to see Wookiees here?" Leia whispered as she and Han watched.

"Pretty common to see all kinds of beings, but ever since the Empire enslaved Kashyyk it's been pretty rare to see one anyplace but there, or on a chain gang," Han replied grimly.

"Do you think he escaped from one of those?"

Han had been considering. "He looks like he's in trouble or trying to avoid it, but . . . I've seen what beings look like after some time as Imperial slaves, and he looks a little too healthy."

"I thought so too." Leia was quiet for a moment. "Unless he escaped a while ago?"

"That seems real possible."

Chewie had approached the other Wookiee and the two of them had begun a cautious conversation. After a few moments, though, the arm movements grew larger (several people nearby ducked) and the two began to growl at each other in a way Wookiees really only did between themselves. Chewie's growl ended with a hearty clap of his big hand on the other Wookiee's back.

Leia grimaced, but said, "That looks friendly?"

Chewie was gesturing at them now - or to Han, more specifically - and before long was leading his fellow Wookiee back to meet them.

"I hope he knows what he's doing," Leia murmured.

"My honor-brother," Chewie said proudly, gesturing at Han. 

The strange Wookiee gave what was a respectful salute in his culture, and called Han by a word that had no direct translation but meant something like "worthy non-Wookiee". It was a great compliment. He then introduced himself with what even Han had to admit was a very Wookiee name.

"He says his name is Korwarriillampa," he said for Leia's benefit.

She was giving him that look like she didn't know if he was telling her the truth or just trying to get a rise out of her. "Really?"

"Swear."

Both Wookiees were looking at Leia now, and Han widened his eyes a little at Chewie. He needn't have worried, though. Even to a countryman, Chewie wouldn't risk giving away the Princess of Alderaan with such a large Imperial bounty on her pretty head.

"This human is also a friend," Chewie told the other, who gave Leia a slight bow.

"His clan is known to my clan," Chewie then explained to Han. "We must help him return home."

"To Kashyyk?" Han asked, eyebrows raised. Her Majesty would definitely have something to say about a detour of that size.

"We can give him passage to Takodana on our way back to the Rebel base," Chewie pointed out. "From there he can find a safe ship."

"How'd you end up here?" Han asked Korwarriillampa.

"I eluded my Imperial jailers three standard months ago when an accident occurred at our worksite, two systems away from here. Five otherbeings there were with me. No Wookiees. They have all departed and, I pray, returned to their homes. I made it this far and was seeking passage the rest of the way to the homeworld."

For Leia's benefit, Han said, "Escaped from slavers three months ago." She nodded and looked back at the Wookiee with a compassion that held no pity.

Gods, but sometimes he really liked her.

He gave that a second to get out of his system, then said, "Chewie wants us to take him as far as Takodana when our business here is done. Won't be out of the way."

"Of course," she said right away. "Will you be able to return home from there?" she asked Korwarriillampa.

Of course she wasn't familiar with the place (though she probably would be, if she kept her lot in with rebels and smugglers). "Ships leaving there all the time in every direction," Han answered for the Wookiee. "It's not what you'd call a _nice_ place exactly, but a Wookiee can take care of himself."

"General Chewbacca and his honor-family are very kind," Korwarriillampa said.

"Speaking of which . . ." Han said.

"Right." Leia slipped seamlessly into mission leader mode. "Should we get - Korwarriillampa -"

It was a fair try.

"- out of sight? Our intelligence didn't indicate any Imperials on-world, but . . ."

"But where we are, there's trouble," Han finished for her.

"Usually," she sighed.

"Chewie," Han said, "why don't you take our new friend back to the ship and keep watch. If anybody's looking for him - or us - they'll be looking for one solitary Wookiee. Maybe two'll throw 'em. The princess and I can handle the meet alone."

"You're certain it will be safe?" Chewie asked. "You have the comm if anything goes wrong?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Han replied, throwing an arm around Leia's shoulders. "We're not selling her to anyone unless the dowry is _much_ higher than that."

Well used to the Leia-doesn't-understand-Shyriiwook game, she just rolled her eyes.

"Someday she's going to shoot you," Chewie said cheerfully.

"Yeah, yeah - have fun catching up on clan news." He started walking with Leia as the two Wookiees moved off. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I think you're worth at least _three_ herds of nerf."

"You know, we didn't actually have dowries on Alderaan," she said.

"No?"

She didn't talk about her home world a lot, but it seemed it was getting easier. And she wasn't reacting to his arm around her shoulders, so he left it there. Leia could be touchy about - well, being touched. She'd allow it or she wouldn't, and there wasn't always any guessing which it would be, but when she was in the mood to allow it she seemed to soak it up.

Loneliness clung to Leia like a second skin, really. You'd have to be made of stone not to want to give her contact when she was craving it.

After a few seconds, her arm slipped around his waist in return. And, well. Aww.

She really could make herself lovable. Which was lucky for her, because otherwise, adorable or not, he might have locked her in the cargo hold a couple times by now. She was a lot less lovable when she was giving orders.

It was a nice night - early evening really, not dark yet. But getting cool on this temperate planet, and there was the homey smell of lit fireplaces mingling with food smells from the market. Somewhere someone was playing an instrument that sounded like the citar, in an outer-Core style that reminded him, a bit, of home. And Leia tucked under his arm was nice, too. Maybe this one wouldn't go to hell after all.

Yeah. Right.

The contact was exactly where he was supposed to be, at a table in an outdoor cafe near one of the heat lamps that kept patrons lingering after the evening chill had set in. If Chewie had still been with them, they'd have passed themselves off as a roaming crew (not that they weren't), but with just the two of them, Han played the devoted husband taking his shy young wife for a night in town. He gave Leia's shoulders an affectionate squeeze and dropped a kiss on her hair as they greeted their "old friend" and sat down at his table.

The meet itself actually went fine. In the local style they shared communal plates of mysterious things, mostly vegetables and cheeses as far as Han could tell, in mysterious sauces, all of which were very good; and the contact smoothly indicated with a tip of his head that it was Leia who would be expected to keep everyone's glasses filled from the carafe of a crisp red wine. Han kept one hand on Leia's back and hoped it looked as if he were glancing around in awe, taking in the sunset and the picturesque surroundings, rather than watching for stormtroopers or Imperial spies. Meanwhile, two small datachips made their way into Leia's sleeve and, as she smiled and made the uncharacteristically girlish gesture of pressing a hand to her heart, were dropped neatly down the front of her shirt. All fine.

They were safely away from the meet, and Han had Leia tucked against him again and was noticing the way her hair had picked up the smell of woodsmoke, and maybe wishing he'd actually drunk some more of that wine instead of mostly just giving the appearance of drinking. When he looked down, lamps along the street highlighted Leia's profile, the shadow of her eyelashes and the lines of her nose and mouth. He was startled to realize he was thinking, in a back-of-his-mind sort of way, about kissing her.

 _She's a child, and you're not that kind of guy_ , he reminded himself; and he pulled her a little closer protectively, which was kind of hilarious considering that was a pretty bad way to protect her from himself.

 _That_ was when the stormtroopers showed up.

Han shoved Leia hard toward a nearby alley. "Run. Get Chewie." For once she didn't argue, and was gone by the time he could face the troopers and raise his hands.

There were five of them. All had blasters trained on him. "Don't want any trouble," he said calmly. 

"I'm sure you don't, Captain Solo," the lead trooper said in his filtered, metallic voice.

Well, hell.

He cracked a smile, eyes fixed on the five blasters. "Have we met? Think I'd remember a face like yours." He waited. "Little stormtrooper humor. You know, 'cause of the helmets . . . anybody?"

"If you come quietly, you will not be harmed," the trooper replied.

 _Yet_ , Han mentally added. He had no idea whether the Empire knew he was involved with the Rebellion or whether this was just about his old record (yes, he'd been - dishonorably - discharged, but he wasn't exactly supposed to take Imperial property with him when he left. The Imperial property in question being some weapons, and Chewie). Hell, maybe they'd found out about Jabba's bounty and decided to pick up a few credits on the side. 

How big a garrison had landed on this world? Had they followed the _Falcon_ here somehow, or known about the meet? Or was this a coincidence?

Had Leia gotten away, or had more of them caught her, too?

"I don't know if coming with you is really the best thing for me," he said, hands still raised. "I kinda had other plans for my evening, you know?"

"The princess will be detained," the trooper said flatly.

Han tried to breathe through the spike of panic. Maybe she'd gotten away. Maybe troopers hadn't found the ship. Maybe Chewie was all right. Maybe he and Korwarriillampa would be able to defend Leia.

Had their contact escaped, or had they figured out he was passing information to the rebels?

He heard the sound of a blaster being primed. "Come along, or be terminated," the trooper said.

Han took a breath, and by the time he let it out, the lead trooper and the one next to him were both falling to the ground. He'd heard blaster shots? but (he patted his chest in confusion) he wasn't shot. They were?

A third dropped to the ground while he was puzzling this out.

By then the remaining two troopers realized their companions had been shot in the back, and they wheeled around and fired down the street. Most of the pedestrians had fled as soon as the troopers cornered Han in the first place, and anyone remaining dove for cover now.

Shots were exchanged while Han fought between the urge to take this opportunity to run, and the need to see who his rescuer was and whether they would need help. The fourth trooper was dropped, and then both Han and, unfortunately, the fifth trooper caught sight of Leia crouched behind a market stall with an Imperial blaster in her hands.

He wanted to call out her name but held it back. 

The trooper fired and fired, scoring black singe marks in the side of the stall. He fired, and Leia rose from her position and fired, and the trooper dropped.

That was all of them.

Leia met Han's eyes from up the street, gestured with the blaster, and shouted, "Come on!"

Right.

He sprinted toward her, not even slowing to collect her but letting her join him as he passed. "Are there more?" he asked.

"Three found me," she choked out through labored breaths. 

"And one of 'em nicely lent you his blaster?"

"Helpful, right?"

Han didn't even try to process the implications of _eight_ stormtroopers (she'd always been decent in a fight, proved that on the Death Star, but had she been practicing?), because there was important running to do. He did throw Leia a quick look to make sure she was with him. She was. She was also bleeding from one arm.

"Did they find the ship?" he asked her.

"Don't know," she gasped.

She was fast (and younger), but his long legs were giving him the advantage and soon he'd have to slow if he wanted to keep with her. Which almost made him feel better about uselessly cracking jokes while she took out _eight stormtroopers_.

One of the best sights he'd ever seen was the _Millennium Falcon_ with Chewie and Korwarriillampa standing outside, and no Imperials anywhere in view. Chewie of course immediately spotted that they were running, and both Wookiees went on alert.

"Imperials," Han said as soon as he was close enough. He slowed and put out a hand to grab Leia's arm, drag her ahead of him onto the ship. "Gotta take off, fast."

"The little one is injured," Chewie said as Korwarriillampa took up attack position with a blaster Han hadn't noticed him carrying.

"She's fine, we'll look at it once we're away. Let's go!"

Leia made it into the ship and just collapsed on the deck, back against the wall, breathing hard. Her injured arm was cradled in her lap. Korwarriillampa boarded last, as the ramp was closing, as Han and Chewie were already in their seats preparing for takeoff. 

"Imperials coming," the Wookiee growled. "Not many. I did not see a ship."

Han saw them now, a squadron charging toward the _Falcon_ with blasters firing. Too late though; they were in the air and well away.

No one spoke until they were out of atmosphere, and Han said, "Chewie, coordinates for Takodana."

Chewie punched them in, asking at the same time, "What happened? There were stormtroopers?"

Korwarriillampa was listening intently, too.

"I don't know where they came from or how they knew we were there," Han said in reply. "There were eight - five had me, I sent her to try to get away. She - killed, stunned, I don't know, she got 'em all, they were all down." He was rambling, a sure sign that nerves were kicking in after the fact. He spared a glance for Leia, who was still sitting on the floor. Her face was set, jaw tight. It made her look older.

"Ready for lightspeed?" Han asked, dragging his eyes back to the view of the stars. Chewie whuffled in agreement, and Han focused on the controls until they were safely in hyperspace.

Once their course was set he left his seat and went to sit on the floor against the bulkhead, a few feet from Leia. "Arm all right?" he asked.

She showed him, a short gash. There was blood smeared on her arm and the palm of her other hand, but it looked like the bleeding was already slowing. "I hit one of them with a pole from a market stall, then I think I managed to cut myself on his blaster while I was stealing it."

The blaster was lying beside her on the deck. He looked it over hastily. "How'd you manage that?"

She shrugged. "How do we manage anything?"

"I'll get you a patch." Honestly, what he wanted to say was _woman, you just shot five people for me, get over here_. But he had no idea how this particular still, serious version of Leia would take that, and anyway bleeding wounds probably came first.

It was maybe, he thought as he went to get the medkit, the first time he hadn't thought of her as a _girl_. That was a dangerous path. Just because she'd proved how much she'd grown up even in the five short months he'd known her, just because she looked older - didn't make it safe or all right to start thinking of her as a woman now.

And anyway she was, if anything, still both. She'd been proving to him from the start that she could be tough and little at the same time. If he did put his arms around her now - assuming it was one of those times she chose to allow it - she would curl into him like a kid looking for comfort, chaste and unseductive and uncomplicated.

Which was a way of telling himself it would be all right for him to do that.

He brought back a damp cloth as well and let Leia clean her own hands off while he sterilized her wound and spread a bacta patch over it. He wasn't aware of Korwarriillampa watching them until he heard the Wookiee softly growl to Chewbacca, "Your honor-brother's woman is fierce."

Han's eyes widened a little bit at that, but he was smoothing the edges of the patch onto Leia's arm and she couldn't understand anyway, so he'd let Chewie clear it up.

So he was a tad surprised when Chewie just made an affirmative noise.

"It is good," Korwarriillampa opined. "If he is worthy of your debt, it is good that he has a worthy mate."

"It is, indeed," Chewbacca replied.

Han almost choked.

"What is her name?"

Asking this was a sign of respect, and that triggered a reflex in Han. Chewie would only be able to share what he called Leia, but Korwarriillampa was asking to hear her human name, what speakers of humanoid languages would call her. It was touching, and Han could hardly argue that she'd earned it, so instead of explaining that she wasn't his mate he found himself just saying, "Leia."

She looked up at that, and he explained, "He was asking your name."

"Oh," she said softly.

He'd set the medkit aside by then, and at the inscrutable look in her dark eyes he made a decision and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She didn't need the usual minute to decide, but fell against him immediately with her head on his chest. "Tired?" he asked, thinking of all she'd managed today.

She made a quiet noise in response and brought her legs up so that her knees were almost on his lap. This was definitely uncharacteristic; he wondered if he should worry.

"Hey," he said, suddenly realizing he hadn't said anything yet. "Thank you."

She nodded, burrowing a little closer to him possibly by accident.

 _Killed or stunned?_ he wondered again. "You all right?" he asked.

There was a moment of hesitation, and she lifted her hand and laid it on his chest before answering. "Yeah."

"The little princess of Alderaan had that name," Korwarriillampa rumbled. Han looked up and saw both Wookiees' eyes on them. "I thought she had died."

"Not dead," Chewie responded quietly.

"So she survived them all." Korwarriillampa made a noise that, if he were human, would have been a clucking. "Are there young?"

Han, by now fully committed to letting Chewie dig himself out of this on his own, just relaxed back against the wall and leaned his cheek against the top of Leia's head.

Chewie responded in the negative without further explanation.

"That is not good." Korwarriillampa turned his attention to Han, his tone stern although his voice remained soft, presumably in deference to Leia. "To be cut off from one's tree is a tragedy. You should give her cubs. She would be happier."

There had been really no way to predict that he'd end this day with a strange Wookiee instructing him to impregnate the twenty-year-old princess he was cradling in his lap. 

"What are they saying?" Leia asked sleepily.

Uh. "He approves of you," Han told her. 

"I've got to learn to understand better," she murmured.

So thank all the gods she hadn't yet. He stroked her hair back. "You should go to bed."

From the copilot's seat, Chewie (possibly feeling guilty, which he should have been) offered, "I can take the little one back to the cabin."

"You want help?" Han asked her.

"No." She took a moment to gather herself, then pushed up out of his arms and got to her feet. Her hand brushed the bacta patch on her arm. "Thank you."

He nodded and patted her ankle, which was about all he could reach easily.

After she had gone he stayed on the deck for a while, until Chewie prodded at him to go to bed himself. They'd be at Takodana by ship's morning, they'd do their good deed, and then maybe things would get less weird.

Though it would take a long time to forget overhearing Korwarriillampa, apparently as the Wookiee noticed Leia sleeping out in the lounge, growl under his breath, "No wonder there are no cubs."


	6. and out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia was really reading this whole thing wrong. Or in other words, Han screws it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference made to roofie-like substances (and possible consent issues), though none are actually used.

**Part Six: 6 months ABY**

Luke was supposed to have come with them. In retrospect, Leia honestly couldn't tell whether she wished he had, or not.

The thing was, Chewie couldn't come either - he'd sustained minor injuries in a skirmish just two days earlier, and couldn't walk properly. Of course given his choice he'd have pushed through it and done what he had to do to ensure Han's safety, but Han was equally stubborn and had all but ordered him to stay put.

Han clearly hadn't forgotten his fear when Chewie had been badly shot a few months back, forcing them to seek refuge with the rebels they'd just abandoned. Leia . . . liked how much he worried over Chewie. Not that she would admit it.

So Chewie couldn't come, and then it turned out there was a one-time window for the elite X-Wing fighters to hit an Imperial base during the transfer of advanced weapons parts, and this window was occurring at the exact same time their Corellian Intelligence contact was able to set up a meet in the Outer Rim.

Leia really, really wasn't sure she wanted to travel to the Rim alone with Han, and she _definitely_ didn't really want the whole Alliance to know she had been alone with him on his ship for so long. But the problem was . . . protesting would have been equally bad. She'd have gone alone with Luke in a second (maybe a little bit worried that he'd make an awkward overture and she'd have to make a decision about it, but not too worried). Or with Wedge, or . . . Colonel Rieekan, even. So making a fuss about going with Han would just highlight for everyone that she saw Han as different from the others. Not just another rebel. That there _was_ something between them.

She certainly wasn't going to do that.

So she made the fateful decision to accept things for what they were, and go on the mission. Alone. With him and C-3PO.

A chaperone that either one of you could literally turn off did not really count as a chaperone.

Most of Leia's intelligence-gathering and diplomatic missions so far hadn't required much in the way of subterfuge - she'd gone in whatever combination of her own and borrowed Alliance gear was appropriate for the planet's weather, and sturdy shoes and maybe a hidden blaster, and done. But for a cantina on the Outer Rim . . .

An Intelligence analyst talked to her friend who was a pilot, and between the two of them and another pilot they managed to get Leia kitted out in a dark green blousy top of some kind, arm braces that made her look like a fighting girl in one of Nar Shaddaa's exotic cage matches, and incredibly tight pants. They didn't hinder her movement, but it felt like they should have.

"That shirt's too long on you, I'm sorry I'm so much taller," fretted the second pilot, a friendly and sort of ruggedly pretty woman named Shara. "We could try to hem it."

"I was just thanking the Force for that same thing, and don't you dare," Leia replied. "I feel naked as it is."

"It's not that much skin, you're just not used to showing any at all." The analyst lifted a hand toward Leia's hair and froze. "Can I? Only you look - _really_ Alderaanian still."

"Go ahead," Leia said with a bit of a sigh. "I look debauched already."

Fortunately, all three other women seemed to understand that she was kidding. Mostly.

Of course by the time she boarded the _Falcon_ she was appropriately dressed again, with her hair properly pinned up and the borrowed clothes in her rucksack. 

Han greeted her with a grin. "Ready to impress the Rim? Shara Bey said she lent you a shirt that looks like a dress on you."

"We can't all be statuesque," she said as she slipped by him.

He stopped her briefly by resting his palm on top of her head. "I like you better this way. You're travel-sized; take up less room on the ship."

"That's just great," she muttered under her breath.

The night before, they'd wished the X-Wing squadron safe departure with an impromptu party, mess hall mugs full of fruity Yavin wine passed from hand to hand and the mood jovial. Leia met Shara's husband, who was a ground forces soldier, and watched them subtly lean into each other's space and sip wine from the same mug.

When Han had arrived, he'd settled next to Leia and kept a hand low on her back, where it wasn't visible to almost anyone else, for most of the evening. It was almost as if they had a secret, the two of them (Leia wondered if they actually did).

When Wedge made a remark about Han's future plans, Han just said lazily, "Might as well see where the next base is, who knows."

Leia had thought - well. It didn't matter what she'd thought.

With only two of them to fly the ship, the trip to the Rim was quiet and businesslike. Leia couldn't decide whether Han was just absorbed in his own thoughts, whether he was specifically trying to avoid highlighting the fact that they were alone - or maybe it was usually this quiet, when it was just him and Chewie. Since Leia still couldn't understand the Wookiee, it was hard to tell whether he was a big conversationalist.

Han let her bring them out of hyperspace, which she surprised even herself by doing relatively smoothly. She had a little flying experience but had never handled a freighter of this size - and that wasn't taking into account whatever "special modifications" Han had made over the years.

Taciturn as he'd been along the way, when they had landed and she was dressed in her borrowed gear, Han couldn't help but comment. Not that he said any of the more lecherous things she was half expecting; he just stared for a second and said, "You'll do," in a tone that was much more telling than the actual words. Leia had to fight hard not to either squirm or blush.

"Is it too - I mean, I won't attract attention, will I?" She was especially concerned about the fact that her arms were exposed from shoulder to wrist, which, while not exactly _improper_ where she came from, was unusual. And would probably have given people ideas about her.

"You . . . will," Han said, and he was still just a little bit wide-eyed. "But not because you're actually wearing anything out of the ordinary."

"Oh." She should have had something else to say to that, but she didn't. "All right. And I don't look too much like myself?"

He scrutinized her for another moment, then held out a hand. "Come here."

Leia hesitated, then went.

He tugged gently at the hair on the sides of her face, teasing out the finer, shorter hairs there and letting them curl loose from her braid, fussing with one side, then the other, then the first again.

"When we get back," Leia said, trying not to go cross-eyed watching his hands, "I'm putting in my report that you spent five minutes _doing my hair_."

"You were too neat," he said, stepping back to check his handiwork. "This is better."

Resigned, she asked, "Do I look like I've been wrestling a bantha?"

He actually _blushed_. Han Solo. Blushed. She didn't understand why until he muttered, "you look like you've been doing _something_ , all right."

Well, now she was going to blush, too. Great. They'd look like overwhelmed hicks from the Agricultural Sector instead of seasoned cantina patrons.

Still muttering, he said, "That contact of yours won't wait all night," and hit the mechanism to lower the ramp.

It was cold. Leia shivered, but thought mentioning that she was chilly might somehow sound flirtatious.

"By the way," Han said as they left the port area, "while we're here, I'm in charge."

Her back went up at that. "What, you think I can't handle myself just because . . ." She looked around as they entered the main drag of the town. "Every third establishment on this street is a brothel?"

Han gave her half a grin, obviously having recovered some of his equanimity. "That one's not," he said, gesturing with his chin.

There were indeed a large crowd of well-dressed, wealthy-looking females (of several species) outside the establishment, but that didn't make it a salon. "I think it's a male one," Leia said primly.

"That's - oh. Yep, sure is." He nudged her with his arm. "You spotted that awful fast, Princess. Experience talking?"

"Obviously," she said. It was fun to watch him staring down at her, but if his eyes stayed that wide he'd give himself a headache, so she took pity. "I used to pass a place like that on the way from my apartments to the Senate building on Coruscant. A little more high-class, but essentially the same."

"Oh."

She couldn't quite resist. "Such nice boys. If you were going to have a speeder breakdown that was a great street to have it on. Some of them were very handy and they didn't charge anything."

Han pointed a finger at her wordlessly for a few seconds before saying, " _Way_ too much time with Wedge."

She smiled.

They had barely taken five steps into the appointed cantina when Leia spotted their contact - a typical spacer type, but wearing a bright yellow flower in his buttonhole. Leia opened her mouth to point him out, but Han got there first.

"Oh, you have to be kidding."

Leia looked up at him with a frown. "What?"

"That's your contact?"

"I guess. Why?"

He shook his head. "Change of plans. This one's on me." He strode through the crowd and she had no choice but to follow.

The contact's face brightened when he saw Han. "Han Solo!" he exclaimed, before tossing back the rest of the brownish liquid in the bottom of his glass and swallowing hastily. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Looking for some trouble to get into," Han replied. "And, uh, I heard there was some . . ."

Leia turned her face toward his shoulder and prompted in a whisper, "spectacular."

"Right. I heard there was some spectacular scenery out in the Central Meadows."

The other man's eyebrows went up as he heard Han use the code phrase. "Didn't expect you to be involved in - uh - scenery, Solo."

"Hey, even I can appreciate scenery when the opportunity is right." Han pointed subtly at one of the curtained privacy booths ringing the cantina. "One of those might be a better place to catch up."

"Good enough." The contact waved at the bartender and called, "Give me two more of these."

Han's hand slid down Leia's bare arm and grasped her wrist. "Sweetheart," he said, watching the contact out of the corner of his eyes. "You don't need to be bored by our business. Why don't you relax out here and take in the scenery while I catch up with my old friend Tanek?" His hand squeezed her wrist. "You know. People-watch."

Right. Both of them going behind a closed curtain probably wasn't the best idea. From a seat at the bar she could keep an eye on everyone going in or out of the cantina. "All right," she said.

"Take in all the interesting things that might be happening."

"I get it," she muttered through her teeth. 

"All right." The other man was watching them, a drink in each hand. Smoothly Han lifted her hand, turned it over, and kissed her palm. "I won't be long."

Leia smiled sweetly at both men and managed not to roll her eyes until they were gone. There was an empty seat at the other end of the bar that happened to be right outside the curtain behind which Han and his "old friend" had disappeared. All the better if she could keep watch out in the cantina and still be close if he needed her.

They seemed to be still actually "catching up" as she settled into the high-backed stool. " - landed on your feet, though," she heard from inside the booth, in a voice that wasn't Han's.

"Eh, they pay sometimes," Han replied. "Sometimes they don't."

"Uh-huh. What do they pay _in_?" The other man - Tanek, if that really was his name - sounded intrigued, or greedy. Just what the Alliance needed, multiple mercenary smugglers.

Han's response was a bland, "Credits, when they got 'em."

" _Uh-huh_."

Leia gave up on trying to understand spacers and signaled to the bartender. Alone in a place like this, if she wasn't drinking she'd look like she was there to pick up business. Of all sorts of kinds.

" - mind some of that," Tanek was saying.

"So you got some kind of map?" Han asked him.

If Leia strained her ears, she could just hear cloth rustling. Tanek replied, his voice lower, "Imperial routes around the Anoat system - we sure this is safe?"

He must have been asking about the conversation itself. "She'll keep watch," Han replied.

"Multi-purpose, eh?" With a laugh, Tanek continued. "Anyhow. Bought this off the guy who made it. He studied the fleet for a couple years -"

"How?" Han asked.

"Think he told me that? Man's in business." A pause. "Shows all the supposedly random routes their ships take when they patrol that part of the Rim. Where they go - and where they don't go. Priceless if you happen to be looking for one of the planets in that system that they don't ever have a sightline to."

"Don't give me priceless, I know the Alliance already agreed with you on your price."

Leia grinned into her drink at Han's grumpy reply. The shoe was on the other foot for a change.

"And what's your cut, eh, Solo?"

Eyebrows raised, Leia listened curiously for the answer.

"No cut." Tanek must have had exactly the same look on his face as Leia did, because Han replied, "Hey, when I get paid it's what they agree to pay me. I don't cheat."

"I get it." The sound of ice in a glass. "I already seen your cut."

Leia made a face at the bar top and took a cleansing swallow of whatever was in her glass. Whiskey, but not quite. Or maybe just bad whiskey.

"Ah, it's not like that," Han said. Even though he'd clearly been giving the purposeful impression to the rest of the cantina that it _was_ like that. Leia supposed there was no real need to keep up the subterfuge with their contact himself.

"Oh, I'm sure. Let me guess - she's your bodyguard."

"Sort of," Han said drily.

Tanek's voice dropped again, though not enough for Leia's taste. "You can't tell me you're not having her. Girl like that?"

"A girl like _what_ , exactly?"

Was Han getting mad? If Han was getting mad, he'd better already have the map in hand. If he blew this, she'd . . . learn to fly the _Falcon_ herself and leave him here.

"Not that I buy it, but hey, if you say it's not like that, you won't mind if I take a turn, right?"

"Tanek -"

That was a warning note in Han's voice. Several of Leia's favorite curse words jumped to mind at once.

"Not that it matters if you do mind; I still got some of that powder they make on Kessel - hell, I could have put it in your drink already and you wouldn't know."

Judging by the man's tone of voice, he probably thought he was being hilarious. And charmingly roguish. It was definitely too much to hope for that Han would think so, too.

"Seems like I should get my share of the perks for -"

Tanek's (disgusting) voice cut off in what sounded like a gargled sort of - _oh hells, Han was choking him_. Leia turned around casually on her stool. There was a small gap in the curtains, through which she could see enough to see that - yes, Han had indeed gone for the man's throat. Wonderful. Not that she was going to intervene; it would draw attention.

"Are you - what -" Han seemed to be so angry that he couldn't form sentences. "What's the matter with you? She's - she's a _baby_. I thought even you had _some_ standards."

Leia's body was faster than her mind. Her face was burning, flooding with heat before she even knew what her reaction was. She slid off the stool - calmly taking her drink with her - and moved to the other end of the room before she finally managed to identify why she was flushed and shaking.

Humiliation. She'd thought - how she ever could have thought . . . She'd actually been imagining . . .

 _Hells_ , she'd been thinking he might be considering staying with the Alliance _for her._ Because he wanted _her. Idiot._

He didn't want her; he was babysitting her. While she was letting Noe and Shara and Inex dress her up like a spacer's girlfriend, secretly wondering what he would think of her with -

_(and oh, she was still in public with this much skin showing; she was shocked he'd let her sit alone)_

\- she was a child to him all the time. How she could possibly have been so stupid . . .

He might have committed homicide by now, but that was his problem. She quickly swallowed the rest of her drink in an attempt to cool her face, which must have been bright red. Across the bar, a man who had been drinking alone while reading something on a datapad glanced up, and accidentally met her eye. He didn't look back down, and his gaze softened into something a little bit speculative; a little bit inviting.

She must have looked - Leia took mental inventory, though thinking of Han arranging her hair was counterproductive because it made her face feel hot again. Debauched, and probably mostly _drunk_ , was how she must have looked, with her face so flushed. Did she care? It was an honest question. She suddenly wasn't sure.

He was actually attractive, the man across the bar. Not too old - about Han's age, maybe a trifle older. He was clean and relatively sober-looking, which set him apart from a lot of the crowd in this place.

Leia found herself actually considering it - answering his unspoken invitation, crossing the bar; or inviting him to join her. Letting something happen. In a way it would almost be a relief, to just . . . let it all go. And it would show that blasted smuggler a thing or two, that she could handle herself and make her own decisions. Not to mention that she certainly didn't want him.

 _You may do as many stupid things as you want_ , her sensible side told her firmly. _But you will not do them because of Han Solo_.

Sometimes she really did hate when her sensible side was right. She gave the man across the bar a weak, regretful smile.

Just in time for Han to join her, looking stormy. _Well, let him storm_. He had what looked like the beginning of a shiner on one side of his forehead, which she chose not to mention. "Did he tell you how to get to the Central Meadows?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice low and steady.

"He told me plenty." Han's hand was on the back of her stool. "Let's get out of here."

For a moment she worried. She leaned close as if to kiss his cheek - not that she ever would - and whispered, "You did get it?"

His (big, really, ridiculous) hand clasped her upper arm. "Yeah. Let's go, now."

"All right." She pulled her arm out of his grip and slid down from the stool on her own.

When they got out to the street, with a good distance between them and the others out choosing a place to drink or be otherwise entertained, she hissed, "I don't care if you killed him, but I swear, Han Solo, if you don't have that map . . ."

"For the love of - here." He pulled a datachip from his vest pocket and handed it to her. "What makes you think I -"

"You look like you've been brawling." She quickly tucked the chip away in a pocket that she was frankly surprised her pants had room for.

"He tried to up his price. I took care of it."

"Of course you did."

The arm nearest her was lifting - he was about to put it around her. She side-stepped it neatly and increased her pace, striding on ahead.

"Leia?" 

"I'm cold, hurry up," she threw back over her shoulder.

"Want my jacket?"

"I want to get back to the ship." She turned around to face him but kept walking backwards, her arms tightly folded. "I assume we need to take off immediately before your angry friend tells someone we're here?"

He had the grace to look slightly abashed. "That's probably a good idea."

"Great." She turned back around and strode forward, calling back, "Next time we run into an old friend of yours, I'm doing the talking!"

As if she wasn't planning on making very sure there was never a _we_ again.

It was really very cold, and the ship seemed much further away than it had on the way in. Leia would have been almost tearful except for the fact that it was impossible for her to be crying over Han Solo, so she obviously wasn't. She was cold and lonely and stupid and childish and wrong-footed - and she wanted Luke. Luke who looked up to her and didn't think she was a stupid kid and made her feel so comfortable. Being with him would make her feel better, if only he wasn't halfway across the galaxy bombing a weapons exchange right now.

On the other hand, if Luke had been here, he would have witnessed her humiliation. He'd either have been in that booth with Han, hearing and seeing everything, or out keeping watch with her -

\- keeping watch _over_ her more likely, and never mind that she was a better shot with a blaster than he was -

\- to see her red face and her uncontrolled first reaction.

No, that would not have been good. At least this way when she did see Luke, he wouldn't be feeling sorry for her. And he wouldn't have any reason to suspect that she'd ever felt - well, anything.

Not much later they were back on base, and Han was already starting to look a bit bewildered at her standoffishness. She didn't care. Soon enough he'd just be relieved that she wasn't hanging around him all the time, expecting him to be responsible for her.

Two days later the X-Wing squadrons returned, and Leia was at the landing strip to throw her arms around Luke after he climbed down from the cockpit. The sense of warmth and comfort and _belonging_ that always radiated from him was like a warm bath surrounding aching muscles, and she held on to him for maybe just a few seconds longer than usual.

"Everything all right?" he asked, one hand still holding her forearm after they separated. His helmet was cradled under his other arm; she hadn't even given him time to put it down.

"I'm glad you're back," she said honestly.

Luke frowned a little at her. "There's something - did something happen?"

He was too perceptive. "Tough mission," she said. "Nothing to worry about. You must be starving, can you come and have dinner or do you have to -"

"I should change," he said, looking down at his flight suit. "But then, sure."

Two more days later and he was leaving again, with a lot of the other pilots and a few freighters and some ground crew, as the advance for their next base setup. They wouldn't be moving everyone there yet, but they had some breathing room now and it would be good to have something waiting the next time they had to evacuate.

(This wasn't the location they were researching in the Anoat system. The map Han and Leia had retrieved was critical intelligence, but everyone in command was still hoping they wouldn't actually be driven there.)

One pointed suggestion from Leia in the planning sessions, and the _Millennium Falcon_ , with both of its crew, became a part of the advance mission. Compensated, of course. They'd be gone for at least a standard month, probably two or three.

She didn't say goodbye.

With Han and - with _Luke and Wedge_ gone, Leia had less reason to linger in the mess hall or visit the hangars. She stayed long hours at her station in the command center, having finally been entrusted with some mission details to oversee on her own. When she ate, it was usually in her quarters.

She admitted to herself that she missed Luke, who contacted her occasionally on a secure line. She absolutely did not miss Han . . . Solo.

(The expletive she mentally inserted between his names varied by the day. After so much time around politicians and pilots, she had quite a repertoire.)

After the first month, Wedge and a few other pilots came back escorting a freighter - not the _Falcon_ \- to pick up supplies. Wedge found Leia in the mostly-empty command center (it still being lunchtime for most of the base), and she was glad he'd looked for her. She talked to so few people through the course of a day that smiling was beginning to feel foreign.

"We left two days ago, have you talked to Luke since then?" he asked.

"Yesterday," she confirmed. 

"He tell you about the tides?"

She laughed. "He told me he almost drowned."

"Live and learn." Wedge grinned. "He was sorry not to be on this flight back."

"I miss him, too," she said.

"He's not the only one who misses you."

Leia dropped her eyes from his penetrating look. "I promise I missed you, too."

"Leia - I mean, Your -"

She waved that away.

"Leia - did something happen between you two? Only you seemed to be such good friends . . ."

She gave Wedge what she hoped was a casual and _mature_ smile. "He was nice to me when - after Alderaan. But he can't take care of me forever; he's got his own business."

"He's stuck around," Wedge said quietly.

"He loves Luke, and Chewie's a rebel," Leia said brightly. "Speaking of which, I heard Chewie's turned into the camp cook."

"He's pretty good at cooking over a fire, anyway," Wedge said, willingly going along with the change in conversation. "Shara Bey did throw up twice this week after dinner, but I think she's just got spacer's flu."

The conversation did not return to the subject of Han.


	7. baby steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han is definitely not pining in any way. And thank the Force for Luke being an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite any appearance to the contrary, no accidental incest is actually contemplated.

**Part Seven: 8 months ABY**

Setting up a new base turned out to be not much different from setting up an elaborate new smuggling operation, or running a con. Which is to say, Han was good at it.

He had a sense for what was needed, but, more importantly, he had a sense for what everyone else knew. Pathfinders understood survival skills; they knew best how to keep everybody alive before the base was set up, and how to assess the conditions and dangers of this world. But general support staff understood how everyone who _wasn't_ a survival expert needed to live - what was necessary before they could move the entire Rebellion headquarters here with its contingent of analysts and maintenance workers and just complete and total civilians. 

Pathfinders would keep the advance teams from being eaten by anything or dying of exposure or running out of water. General support would make sure they remembered to install plumbing when the actual buildings went up.

The X-Wing squadrons were incredibly useful for reconnaissance flights, but intelligence operatives knew what they were actually looking for. Intelligence knew what they were hiding from - where the Empire might be, what type of recon they were doing - but the stealth teams knew _how_ to hide them. And so on, and so on.

It was comfortable and familiar, and sort of interesting. And the others were mostly good people; Rebel diehards who nevertheless seemed to have little problem letting Han coordinate things, as Rieekan had hired him to do, even though he had no commission and no official rank. 

Even though he knew he'd only been given this job because Her Highness wanted him gone.

Still, it was a good time. It was a rare bit of peace, with no dangers other than the usual ones that came with a new planet and unfamiliar terrain. Setting up things like indoor kitchen facilities would come last, when they were closer to needing to provide for the entire Rebellion, so they spent a lot of time cooking (and washing, and performing maintenance tasks), outside. Evenings around a fire, raucous stories and songs from the political underground and resistance movements of a dozen different worlds; rum and whiskey and Yavin wine passed around (almost everyone had left the base on Yavin with at least a crate of the stuff. They'd be drinking it till the fall of the Empire and for years after).

It was time for him and Chewie to just _work_ , away from intrigue and all the frustrating, infuriating . . . complications. Luke was there, and Wedge, and a crowd of other friendly faces, some of whom even spoke Corellian with him. It was nice.

He did not admit to missing Leia.

Not when Luke complained about missing her, not when he wished out loud that she'd come with them, not when he tried to tell Han about his conversations with her. Not when Wedge came back from his escort mission and said she seemed tired -

_(well, she'd work round the clock if someone didn't come and distract her or drag her to dinner)_

_(not that it was Han's business; she'd made that crystal clear)_

Not when Chewie reflected that it was quiet without her, and Han replied that yes, it was, and it was _great_ , but with a twinge of guilt because he remembered the times she would just sit quietly while he was working on the _Falcon_ , and hand him tools, and watch as if she were trying to memorize the ship.

Not when he had a - just a _wrong_ dream about her, and woke up guilty and shamed and, _he was going to the hells for sure_ , hard.

Well, not that he was going to admit to anyone that had happened at all, so he didn't really have to worry about whether they would think it meant something. 

If he drank enough at night, _he_ didn't have to worry about whether it meant something. So that was fine.

It was all fine and easy without her around. And if his first drink around the fire at night sometimes made him think of the weight of her head on his shoulder, or her warmth against his side . . . well, the second drink was usually enough to banish those thoughts. 

Until, of course, she showed up.

Of course the command would eventually send a delegation to check on their progress, that was predictable. But given the way she'd had him sent off - 

\- and she had to have done it; there was no other explanation for him being pulled off flying her missions and assigned to advance duty -

\- he would have expected her to stay behind, to stay away from him.

But Luke came jogging over to the _Falcon_ one morning to report, "I just talked to Leia -"

"And how is Her Divine Majesty?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "I still don't understand why you have to -"

"I know you don't."

Han was working on a particularly stubborn valve, and it was convenient to turn his back on Luke and keep trying to force it. Until Luke shared his big news.

"She's coming here!"

Oh, hell. "What?" Han asked, abandoning the valve with all but one steadying hand.

"She told me this morning." Luke, of course, was beaming. "There's a command team coming out to see how things are going."

"And she's coming with them?" Han turned back to his work with a grunt. "Would've thought this was the last place she'd be caught."

"Han," Luke said, a trace of his farmboy whine showing through, "I really don't get it."

"Maybe that's because it's none of your business."

"What happened between the two of you? You were getting to be such better friends, I don't understand -"

"What happened between us," Han said, "is we were -" Changing his mind, he threw Luke a look over his shoulder. "We weren't friends. Maybe seemed like it because she wasn't facing the truth about what kind of guy I am. Then something reminded her. End of story."

"What . . ." Luke was frowning. Han could _feel_ Luke frowning behind him. "What do you mean, something - did you do something to her?"

The implication seemed clear. Han spun around, a wrench in his hand. "No, I didn't do - what kind of guy do you take me for?"

"I don't know, what kind of guy do _you_ think you are?" Luke countered, somehow managing to look confused and yet utterly certain of himself at the same time.

"I'm a smuggler," Han said with an emphatic shake of the wrench. "I'm a criminal, and not the nice political kind, willing to fall on my morals and die a martyr. I do illegal things and I do them for and with bad people. Rough people. She can't handle that."

"She's always known that," Luke protested.

"Known it. Not seen it." Han turned back to his ship, hoping the conversation was over. "She got a good look at the kind of people I know, and she couldn't pretend I was her tame pet spacer anymore. And she doesn't want anything to do with me. That's what happened."

"That doesn't sound right."

"Well, there's no other reason." 

"Did you ask her?"

"Yeah. She stopped speaking to me so I thought we'd have a cup of tea and talk about our feelings."

Luke paused. "So no?"

"Look, why do you care?" Han asked.

Luke purposely came into his field of vision, shrugging. "I just - like it better when we're all friends."

Han snorted. "They should send you to negotiate with the Emperor."

"I don't like it when people are fighting." This time it was Luke's turn to snort at himself. " _Don't_ tell me I shouldn't have joined a war."

"Maybe she and I like fighting."

"You don't, not like this." Luke crossed his arms. "And you haven't joined a war, technically."

"Tell the Empire. Maybe they'll lower my bounty. Look," Han said, forestalling any further discussion, "I'm glad you're excited. I hope the two of you have a . . . nice . . . visit. Just leave me out of it."

Luke finally gave up, but when he started to wander away Han stopped him.

"Hey, kid - if you know what's good for you, you won't try to ask Her Worship about any of this either."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Luke muttered.

The command delegation arrived two days later. Rieekan - _General_ Rieekan now, Han had heard - was first off the ship, followed by a couple other officers and a former senator or two, and then, half-hidden by the officer next to her, Leia.

Han's first thought was _she's older, and she's grown_ , but that didn't make any sense; it had only been two months since he'd last seen her. 

Well, so she was two months older, obviously. But that wasn't the kind of thing that usually showed.

What she was, he realized after a moment, was thinner. She wasn't (probably) any taller but she looked it, because she was leaner and also the jacket she was wearing actually fit. And there were new angles to her face, so much of the childish roundness gone. She looked -

He watched her spot Shara Bey in the crowd and step toward the other woman, taking her hands with an exclamation Han couldn't hear. Her smile was practiced, though there was a real fondness in the way she clasped Shara's hands.

She looked grown-up.

Han ducked up the _Falcon_ 's ramp and safely inside. He didn't want to see the affection fade from her face when she saw him.

Luke's footsteps clattered up the ramp a while later, and his head poked into the cockpit soon after. Han was sitting in the copilot's seat with the control panel open in front of him, fiddling without real intention.

"See Leia?" Luke asked brightly.

Han gave it a second before he replied, continuing to tinker in the open panel while he spoke. "She's skinny," he said tersely. "Ought to leave her here for a while, let Chewie feed her."

"I thought she looked fine," Luke said, settling casually into the pilot's seat. "I mean. Good."

Han hesitated, then twisted a loose bolt. "Is she? Fine?"

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Good question. Han shrugged with one shoulder. "No reason I guess."

Leia could have a couple of black eyes, a rash, and a broken arm and the kid would think she looked fine. His information was not especially helpful.

Still. When Han dared to wander from the _Falcon_ late that afternoon he saw them, sitting together on a couple of rocks near the little lake they'd been using for freshwater, and she looked . . . relaxed, at least. She was barefoot in the warm afternoon sun - they both were - and both her pant legs and her sleeves were rolled up. Her arms were wrapped around her knees as she listened to whatever Luke was telling her. Han found himself . . . staring. Memorizing. Trying to remember what was really different. Her hair was windblown; loose strands from her braids rested on her neck. Had her forearms always looked so strong, or was that new? There was a long scratch up one arm, too. What had she been doing?

She was prettier, had grown prettier somehow. He wouldn't have expected that.

Somewhere, something deep inside him was cursing loudly. It shouldn't have been so easy to picture himself going and sitting next to her, putting his arm around her, feeling her settle against him . . .

Well, she wouldn't, she'd probably hit him, so it was time to stop daydreaming.

He stayed away from the fires that night.

He couldn't avoid the command briefings, the tours, but he talked to Rieekan and the others and tried not to make eye contact with her. She seemed inclined to make that easy. When she did ask him a question, she looked away before he answered.

They were planning to stay five days. On the afternoon of the fourth day, Luke came looking for Han in the _Falcon_ again.

"How do you know if something on the holonet is true?" he asked without preamble.

Han raised an eyebrow. "If it's on the holonet, it's probably not," he said. "Why?"

"Just wondering, you know. About. Information."

Luke was not good at cagey.

"What kind of 'information?'" Han asked.

Luke blushed deeply.

Oh no. Oh, he was not prepared for this. No one could ever be prepared for this.

But if he didn't save the kid from himself, who would? 

"Are you talking about . . ." _Porn_ was the word his mind helpfully supplied, but he didn't think that was quite right. "Uh, medical information?"

"Maybe?" Luke asked doubtfully. "I guess?"

"Like information on - uh - how to . . ." And the words weren't out of his mouth before his brain finally caught up, and all the blood in his head rushed to his feet or something, or maybe to his stomach because he felt kind of sick.

_Shut up_ , he told his blood, and kept breathing hard through his nose, because much as he did _not_ want to know if Luke and Leia were planning on consummating their -

\- perfect, sweet, completely appropriate relationship, unlike -

\- well, he didn't want anything terrible to happen either. After all, what the hell ideas would the kid be getting off the holonet?

His body wasn't completely on board though, because he had to clear his throat a few more times before he could continue. "Listen - there's a lot of pretty weird - I mean, there's some stuff you're gonna come across that's not necessarily a good . . . idea . . ."

Yeah, he was definitely going to be sick. How long had it been since the last time Shara ran off from dinner to puke? Would Luke believe he'd caught her flu?

Luke was still the color of a sunset, but he managed to stammer out, "It's just there's this . . . woman . . ."

"I gathered that," Han said, instead of throwing up, which he thought was pretty impressive.

"She's a lot more experienced is all, and . . . I don't want to look stupid."

That gave Han a second's pause. He'd have no trouble believing nearly anyone in the galaxy was more experienced than Luke Skywalker, but - a _lot_ more experienced? _Leia_?

"How much more . . ."

"Well, she's older. A bit."

The nausea was fading a little. Leia was not older than Luke, not even by a bit. Luke claimed he'd come of age just before meeting Kenobi and leaving Tatooine, which made him older than Leia. By nearly three weeks.

Still, because he was an idiot and some kind of glutton for punishment, apparently, he blurted out, "But I thought - you and Leia -"

Luke blinked at him and said, "Your relationship with Leia is really odd."

"All relationships with Leia are odd. Leia is odd." Catching himself, he frowned. "I don't have a relationship with Leia."

"Uh-huh." Luke frowned. "So your advice is don't do anything weird?"

"Not unless she asks for it. Uh - specifically. With words." Han patted him on the shoulder. "May the Force be with you."

"I don't really think that's what it's for?"

Yet that night, when Han braved the fire circles for the first time since the command - well, since Leia had arrived - Luke was sitting with her, his too-long darkening blond hair bent close to the dark coil of her braids. Han wasn't ready for her, and definitely wasn't ready for them together, but he was also curious and that won out. Which girl did Luke have his eye on? Or had he been lying to throw Han off, and it was Leia after all?

He got even more curious when he came close enough to hear them, and Leia was shaking her head and saying firmly, "no."

"Leia," Luke said with a trace of a whine.

"No," she repeated.

Luke brightened when he caught sight of Han coming. "Han! Help me out."

He assumed Luke was not asking for help convincing Leia to sleep with him, so he put on a casual, cheerful face (ignoring Leia's flat expression) and sat down on a free rock behind them. "With what?"

"Leia's questioning my judgment."

Leia looked up at Han and seemed to consider for a moment; then her face cleared. "I really, really am," she said.

"I don't need this from you," Luke said, and he was almost laughing, and he was actually sassing Leia and Han had to smother his own laugh. So the princess wasn't the only one who was growing up.

Luke looked meaningfully across the fire, and Han followed his gaze to . . . Wedge? No, to a woman beside Wedge, talking to the pilot on her other side.

"No," Han said.

"Oh, come _on_." Luke looked between Han and Leia, his expression betrayed. "You two agree on nothing; you have to pick this?"

"She's . . ." Leia looked helplessly at Han. He couldn't help but smile back. She was cute.

He shook that off. "Uh - a lot more experienced and a bit older were accurate descriptions, kid, yeah."

"Yes," Leia said. "I mean - not judging how much experience someone has -"

"Right," Han agreed. _He_ had a lot more experience than Luke; it wasn't exactly a character flaw.

"But - uh - older, yes," Leia finished. "I'm sure she's - nice - but -"

"She's a man-eater."

Leia laughed into the drink she'd been about to sip, clapping her hand over her mouth.

"Come on," Luke said.

"I mean it," Han said, fighting the urge to clap Leia on the back. Not because she was really choking, just . . . "She's not into repeat performances. Ask Mellers. Or Fessh. Or that guy with the X-Wing tattoo . . ."

"Maybe I'm not, either," Luke said, sounding affronted.

"Oh gods." Leia was still laughing, nearly doubled over. "I do not need to hear this."

"You said you'd give me advice!"

" _You_ said 'romantic advice,' not . . . whatever this is." She pressed her hand over her mouth again, still giggling.

She wasn't giving him the cold shoulder, and she looked so happy, it even reached her eyes - he hadn't seen her laugh like this in months - and Han reached out to her and put his hands over her ears. She just kept laughing and didn't push him away, so he kept his hands there and said sternly to Luke, "Look, if you really want to just sow your wild oats, go for it. And take precautions." 

He uncovered Leia's ears, and she tried to glare but was still smiling. "I heard way too much of that," she said.

"But," Han continued, ignoring her, "we just don't want you to get your innocent little heart broken."

"I hate you both," Luke said, though without any real venom. 

Leia met Han's eye for just a moment, and then her gaze dropped to her lap, her smile fading a bit. Still. She didn't turn her back to him, or get up and leave, or say something cutting.

Whatever had happened, it was a step.


	8. leaps and bounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, maybe Leia had a tiny little bit of this wrong.

**Part Eight: 8 months ABY**

The odds had been about even whether Leia's coming along to inspect the new base was a good or a terrible idea. Duty and Luke and curiosity won out - she'd helped to choose this location and it was only right she should be there to see how it was progressing, and she wanted to see Luke, and -

She would admit to curiosity about the base, the world, what it would be like to be stationed there. That was it. Nothing else she was remotely curious about.

It was a bit awkward at first, and she wasn't even sure why. Unless it was just that the teams they'd sent ahead were sensitive about command showing up to interfere or comment or criticize. Or - part of Leia even wondered if Han had been complaining about her, if he had friends among the crews here who had been turned against her.

When they disembarked, Leia recognized Shara, the pilot who'd helped dress her for that disastrous mission to the Rim. The other woman dropped her eyes almost guiltily when she saw the command delegation. It probably didn't have anything to do with Leia? whatever it was, but just in case Leia gave her a friendly smile and went over to greet her. Shara did return the greeting in a friendly enough manner, although her smile didn't reach her eyes.

All of that was pushed out of Leia's mind, though, by the rush of warm feeling she still didn't quite understand but that her mind recognized immediately as _Luke_. He grinned as he came to hug her, careless as always about whether there should be any kind of protocol in the situation. Not that she really cared either.

She felt a little bit of this whatever-it-was when they spoke over comms, but in person it felt like sunshine hitting her on the inside. She wondered if everyone felt this way around him - it would certainly explain his popularity among the rebels.

"I should show you the lake," he said brightly, while they were still hugging. "It's huge and - well I mean it's working fine for freshwater, the pumps and filters and everything are set up all right, but - you can see the fish!"

Leia hid a smile. She'd seen the lake from above on their descent - it was probably just behind them - but she wouldn't mention that, he was too excited to show it to her. Take the desert boy out of the desert . . .

"Has your swimming improved any?" she asked.

"A little. Never let a Wookiee teach you to swim."

"I already know how to swim, so . . . okay." Over his shoulder she'd finally noticed the _Falcon_ sitting right there like some kind of monument to disorder. She averted her eyes. "What'd he do?"

"Threw me in."

Leia snorted.

"I don't mean _pushed_ ," Luke continued. "You ever been thrown by a Wookiee?"

"Not yet." Given some of the situations they all got themselves into, it wasn't the kind of thing she would rule out.

Or. No. Sternly she reminded herself that she was not going on missions with Han . . . Solo anymore, which almost certainly meant a lot less opportunity for getting tossed about by Chewbacca.

"Well," Luke continued, "I mean he actually lifted me near over his head and _threw_. I must have gone thirty feet out."

A tall, lanky figure had just ducked his head and gone up the ramp into the _Falcon_.

Leia took a deep breath and pushed thoughts of smugglers far from her mind. "How did you get back to shore?"

"I . . . flapped around and almost died. I think Wookiee cubs swim naturally?"

"I think they start walking at a couple weeks, so - that would make sense." She was laughing at the image of Luke flailing out in the lake.

"Han came out and rescued me. Half the team saw, it was humiliating."

Leia tried not to let her smile completely fade. "But you can swim now."

"Well enough to survive if I fall in, anyhow."

Sitting with Luke by the lake was - well, it felt like home and unsettled her, both at the same time. There was a tugging in her chest like a memory she couldn't place, on top of thoughts of Alderaan's lakeshores and the summer house and even that time when she was very small and Father had taken her to Naboo . . .

"What?" Luke asked.

She shook her head. "Something I'd forgotten until now. My father took me to the lakeshore on Naboo when I was little. I think - I know I wasn't born there, but he said something like . . . I think my mother may have been from there. Maybe. My birth mother."

"Your parents knew her?"

"My father met her, anyway. He always told me he was there when I was born." She hugged her knees closer to her chest against the beginnings of a night breeze. "I never wanted to ask too much. I was afraid they'd feel that they weren't enough for me."

Luke was quiet for a while. "My aunt and uncle didn't know my mother's name," he said finally. "My father brought me home to them after she had died, and then he got killed too before he could tell them any more, I guess."

"I don't think anyone knew who my birth father was," Leia said softly. "He might even still be alive, but for whatever reason - maybe he was married, or something." She hesitated for another moment before sharing one of her most closely held secrets. "My birth mother's name was Padme."

"That's nice," Luke said.

"It's pretty common in the Core. One of Naboo's last senators before the Republic fell was called Padme, even. Doesn't really tell me anything, I just - like to know it."

Luke nodded. "What are the odds," he said. "I mean, both of us not really knowing . . . and born on the same day, too."

Leia's forehead wrinkled. "We weren't. My birthday wasn't until two weeks after - after Yavin."

"Neither was mine," Luke said, looking sheepish. "It's the same day as yours really."

"You _lied_?" She sat up straighter on her rock. "What for?"

"I needed to fly," he said. "Ben was dead, and the Empire had . . . and Biggs was fighting, and you and everyone - I just knew it was what I had to do. And I was afraid they wouldn't let me join up, if I was still underage."

"You lied on your enlistment paperwork." She gave him as shocked a look as she could muster on behalf of the Alliance. "Luke Skywalker, you're a perjurer."

He laughed. "Not anymore. About a week after my - our birthday, I convinced a clerk it had been a clerical error and she fixed it."

"And seducing others into your crimes, too." Mid-laugh she gazed at him, that warm/strange feeling filling her. "The same birthday, really?"

"On the standard calendar at least." With a smile that crinkled his nose he added, "On Tatooine we're both desert lightning."

"What?"

"Oh, you know. If you're born in the first month you're sunrise. Second month, morning dew."

"Oh." On Alderaan the signs had been named after constellations. "We're - you'd be a Talinthes on Alderaan. The Twin. It's a constellation that looks like two trees growing side by side."

She spoke matter-of-factly, tracing the outline of the trees in the air with her finger, but Luke was studying her when she looked over. After a moment he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

If only loving everybody could be that uncomplicated.

She never knew what made Han finally join them at the fire the night before she was scheduled to leave, but after the first few awkward moments his presence made everything feel so right. Right, and normal; even more so than just being with Luke. She wanted to hate it - why did he have to feel so comfortable and natural and part of her life? But she couldn't deny that he just seemed to belong with them.

As if the ice had been broken, he finally stopped skulking around the backs of meetings and answering her questions without looking at her. While all his avoiding her had been convenient, seeing as she planned to avoid him, it also made her feel - not guilty exactly. A little mean, maybe. But by what was supposed to be her last day on planet, he was acting like a normal person - well, like his normal self - making his usual cracks interspersed with actually useful information.

Which was how they found out the pilots' patrol rosters needed to be changed.

Because Shara Bey's name came up in a discussion of who the most experienced and mature flyers were, for the patrol missions that had a greater likelihood of accidental Imperial contact and demanded the ability to react calmly; and Leia absently mused that Shara had seemed sort of - off, when they landed; and Han made some kind of joke about how Chewie's food had sapped Shara's will to live or something; and that's when it came to her.

"Oh no."

Han and General Rieekan were staring at her, and she realized she'd had her revelation out loud.

"Her husband," she said instead of explaining. "His name is . . ."

"Dameron," Han supplied, frowning in confusion.

"Right." She sighed. "We'd better have him transferred here. And she's going to have to be taken out of the patrol rotation, probably pretty soon."

"Something wrong with her?" Han actually looked sort of concerned. She didn't want to think about whether that was nice or not.

"She's pregnant," Rieekan realized, just a couple steps behind Leia.

"She's been dreading telling us," Leia guessed. "That's why she's been avoiding me. We were sort of friendly on the last base."

"Does she need to?" asked Han, who was still frowning.

Leia hadn't followed him. "Need to what?"

"Dread telling you."

"Of course not." The response was automatic but no less true. "It's not her fault - well, I mean . . ." She cursed the heat she felt rising on her face. "Life doesn't come to a complete halt because there's a war on."

" _Really_ ," Han said, in a way that wasn't quite mocking but still sort of . . . challenging.

"Well. For people that _have_ lives." Brusquely she turned to General Rieekan. "Can we do that? Have . . . Mr. -"

"Sergeant," Han supplied.

"Have Sergeant Dameron transferred to this team?"

"Of course we can," Rieekan agreed, with a gentle smile that said he approved.

When she looked at Han, he was smiling too, and almost as sentimentally. "What?" she said.

He shrugged. "Nothing. Babies are nice."

Rieekan had wandered off with a grin. Leia watched him go with a raised eyebrow, her attention half on Han. "Right. I'm sure you're an expert on babies."

"Kind of am." At her skeptical look he laughed. "Hey, life goes on for smugglers, too. And gamblers, and port mechanics, even thieves. Lots of kids coming into all kinds of situations."

For a second she thought he was about to tell her something about his own childhood. "Oh?"

"Sure." His grin broadened. "Even almost had a baby born on the _Falcon_ once. Luckily we made it to the med center in Cloud City in time. I wouldn't have enjoyed cleaning up that mess."

She wasn't going to ask questions, especially ones that made it seem like she cared what he'd done - or with whom - before they met. Or after. Or ever. But - "How did you end up with a woman in labor on your ship?" burst out without her permission.

"She was with a crew that hired on to help us with a tricky job transporting those Mon Calamari, what do you call 'em, vesicles. Big as a bantha but she swore the kid wasn't coming for another two months. Then when she started having contractions she claimed it was early." He shook his head. "Biggest two-month-early baby I ever saw."

She realized he was walking her back to the command ship. Not sure how to feel about that, she quickly said, "She must have really needed the work."

"Told you. People having kids in all kinds of situations."

Part of his story came back to her. "You saw it?"

"The baby? Yeah, after it nearly arrived on the ship we had to stick around and see how it turned out. Cute thing. She named him after me."

"No she didn't."

"No, she didn't," he admitted easily. "She named him Falcon."

Leia's nose wrinkled and she found herself laughing a little. "Sadly, that I believe."

"Let me hold him and all. I think the nurses suspected I was really the father even though she told them I wasn't." He looked out over the lake - they had reached the ships now - and sighed theatrically. "Yep. It would have been disgusting, but I'd have caught that kid on the floor of the _Falcon_ if I'd had to."

"So chivalrous." The comment made her feel even stranger about the fact that he'd returned her to the command shuttle as if she needed an escort. "Well. Looks like we're boarding."

"Looks like." His hands were in his pockets. They were oddly awkward with each other - _your fault_ , her brain helpfully pointed out - as if there were a subtext neither of them intended on speaking. "See Luke before he went out?"

"Yes." Luke was on patrol. With Shara Bey, who if Leia was right would barely fit into her cockpit in a couple months. "Try to keep him out of trouble."

He blinked. "I'm flattered you think I could."

"Don't offer to deliver Shara's baby."

"I know how to avoid getting punched in the face."

"Do you, though?"

"Well." He gave her a half-smile. "By women."

"Really?"

"Normal women."

She rolled her eyes. It was too easy, they'd fallen far too fast into the old rhythm, as if she could still trust how he felt -

She turned away. "Better go."

He nodded, a quick jerk of the head, and backed away, hands still in his pockets. "See you, Princess."

Her mind was cloudy as she strapped in for takeoff. His attitude confused her - she hadn't liked him avoiding and ignoring her, but that at least she understood, he was giving back what she was giving him. But this - the tentative reopening of communication between them, and the awkwardness that had snuck into it. That she didn't -

The ship lurched, and she broke free of her thoughts enough to glare at the back of the pilot's head. He was an old hand and should have been able to take a ship out of atmosphere without jostling them about.

It wasn't until they'd bumped and lurched for several minutes straight that she noticed the pilot and copilot in urgent conversation, the pilot's hands tightly gripping the controls. General Rieekan was out of his seat despite the turbulence, clinging to the back of the pilot's seat and shouting something over the din of engines and -

Alarm klaxons suddenly blared. Over their screeching Leia heard the word "sabotage" spoken.

"Not possible!" Rieekan said, looking back at her and the rest of the delegation for support. "There's no one anywhere near that camp but our people, people I trust."

"When we stopped to refuel," the copilot said breathlessly. He was young, from the Hosnian system if Leia remembered correctly. "Someone could have - something that wouldn't kick in until the next time we took off -"

"Shuttle M-24631, what's happening?" came the staticky, worried voice of the ground controller at the camp they'd just left behind. "You look like you're having some difficulty."

"Could they have known who we were?" the former senator from Thales asked. He was white, and gripping the arms of his seat.

"Some of us are recognizable enough," someone answered him, and Leia thought, _like me_.

"I can't," she thought she heard the pilot say, and then the ship was no longer rocking but falling, falling hard enough that her stomach was in her throat.

"Pods!" someone was screaming through the chaos and noise, and Leia unstrapped herself and staggered through the shuttle, flinging her body against the momentum of the crash to get to the escape pods at the back. She chose one and mostly fell into it; Rieekan strapped himself into crash webbing beside her and so did a lieutenant from the command center and, across the pod, the former senator from Dantooine.

"Did anyone tell them we're coming down?" Rieekan asked, but Leia could only shake her head and grip her webbing as he forced the pod door shut and hit the deploy button. 

Over the comms they heard, "All passengers evacuated, this is Quarrix, Basshe and I are taking the final pod." The pilot and copilot. Maybe they'd all survive this.

Leia's stomach felt no more certain about the descent back to planetside in the escape pod, which was designed to fly itself but not necessarily with finesse. She wouldn't let herself wonder whether the pods had been sabotaged too, if indeed there had been sabotage. If the pod malfunctioned they would die; no use thinking about it.

The trees rose up quickly, growing from a blurry carpet underneath the pod windows into distinct shapes with branches and leaves, and the senator shouted, "too fast!" and he was right, but they hit with a bounce that rattled Leia's teeth and nearly made her sick, and then they were skidding, skidding.

They came to a stop with a hard jolt, smoke visibly rising outside the pod. There were a few moments of stunned silence.

"Everyone all right?" Rieekan asked, sounding almost as shaken as Leia felt.

She nodded, and so did the others. Her ribs hurt, and she was probably bruised from being thrown back into her seat and tossed against the tight webbing, but she was all right.

The lieutenant pushed on the door and shook his head. "I think it got jammed."

Slowly all of them unstrapped themselves and came to help, but all four pushing together couldn't get the pod door open. Leia tried not to let herself panic. The team on planet knew they had trouble with the shuttle, hopefully knew they'd bailed out, and would be looking for them. They had plenty of air in the pod to wait until they were found. Probably.

It felt like an eternity before she heard shouts outside, someone yelling, "I got another one!" Then someone else, high and worried, shouting, "Who is it? Who's on board?"

"Don't know yet!"

A face Leia barely recognized appeared against the window in the jammed door. "Everyone all right?" he called, his voice muffled.

"The door won't open," Rieekan shouted in response, banging on it as if to illustrate the point.

The face in the window turned away to yell, "Four survivors, looks like no serious injuries, but the pod door won't open!"

"Well _get it open_!" came the response, and Leia knew that voice.

She didn't see him, though; and everyone outside and inside the pod fell silent as banging and creaking noises indicated someone outside trying to pry the door open. "Stand back!" someone called, and all four occupants of the pod flattened themselves as far from the door as they could, moments before a small detonation blew a hole where most of the door used to be.

"The princess first," Rieekan said. The hole in the door was high and she had to stand on a seat to reach her arms through it. Her arms were seized and she was hauled out of the pod, set on the ground beside it, and immediately caught up in an embrace so tight that she was lifted off her feet.

"Han," she tried to protest, but the word was half-smothered in his shirt.

"You could have broken your neck," he muttered, still holding her painfully close but lowering her until her feet at least touched the ground.

She tried to shove him off. "If I had, you'd be killing me right now."

"You're not hurt?" He released her but started running his hands up and down her sides. She smacked him away and took a step back.

"I'm fine, stop it."

"You almost . . ." With only a shift in his stance to warn her, he surged forward and seized her again, holding her close. To her great disgrace she noticed that she was shaking, and that it was very, very tempting to lay her head on his chest and just stay there.

They really did almost, she realized. Almost . . . crashed, blew up, whatever. And instead of walking it off like a soldier, she was feeling cuddly. "Han," she tried again.

"I've got you," he said in response. Which wasn't what she meant at all; she'd meant to extricate herself, but. His voice was shaking, she realized, and his hands, and she suddenly understood that he wasn't trying to comfort _her_.

Well, he was, but that wasn't why his grip on her was so tight.

_Oh_.

A tiny brick in the wall she'd built against him fell away, as her perception slowly realigned itself. In whatever way - however he saw her - she suddenly couldn't doubt that he cared. Very much.

_Oh._

She pressed her forehead against his chest and breathed deeply.


	9. fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia's "back" and everything is as it should be again. Sort of.

**Part Nine: 1 ABY**

The thing about Leia was, she was really a model passenger.

She believed in order and routine, down to her core. On ship, this manifested as washing dishes the second a meal was over, making beds and tidying bunks, presenting herself at the same ship's time every morning, neat and washed and dressed, ready to help with maintenance or repairs or whatever needed doing.

She drew the line at making Luke's bunk, when he was onboard, but her glare of disapproval was strong enough that she could get him to do it himself.

For Han, who was vain of his ship, anyone willing to clean it and keep it in order got a gold star. 

He would have expected that a princess - that _she_ \- would expect to have things done for her, but he was disabused of that notion pretty quickly. There was nothing too messy, too mundane, for Leia to do herself. Nothing too difficult, even; if a thing was complicated, she learned it; if a valve was stuck or a piece of equipment was too heavy, she brainstormed a way around it. She was smart, she was a problem-solver, and she was proud.

Of course, she had opinions (a lot of opinions) when it came to their actual missions, flight paths, priorities - that was less charming, her attempting to give him orders on _his_ ship. But her throwing her entire body weight against a stuck hydraulic door was just sort of cute.

He'd come across her once - after the shuttle crash, when her delegation was stuck at the makeshift new base until they could be retrieved - hanging damp military cot-sized sheets on a line near the lake.

"Are you doing _laundry_?" he asked, instead of asking her whether she had a vote on the evening's dinner, which was actually why he'd come looking for her.

"Obviously," she said, blowing a loose hair out of her eyes as she clipped the corner of another sheet to the line.

"Someone else couldn't do this?"

She paused in the act of bending for another sheet. "Are you asking if someone else is capable, or if someone else is available?"

"Um. Both?"

"I assume the first is a yes. It's not hard." She tossed the next sheet over the line. "But everyone else has a job."

"I know. The last time we washed the sheets we all did our own at night." Come to think of it, he couldn't even remember how long ago that had been. He wasn't about to admit that. "Still. They teach you to do linens in princess school?"

Leia had fixed him with a searching look and said, "You can't decide if you want me to be a snob or not."

He definitely wasn't going to tell her that Chewie had once said more or less the same thing.

It was nice to have her there, now that she seemed to have mostly forgiven him for - well, for being him, or whatever specific part of being him had pissed her off. She still seemed a bit wary with him, but she'd talk to him at least and sit with him and Luke around the nighttime fires. True, she probably paid more attention to Luke, or in any case teased him more, but. It was so easy.

"You know," she finally said one night after about ten minutes of Luke quietly complaining that the cute A-Wing pilot in the tent next to his wouldn't give him the time of day ("hard to imagine, you being the hero of the Rebellion and all," Han said, and got a clump of lakegrass thrown at him for his trouble). "The Jedi were celibate."

"That's not possible," Luke replied, distracted from his misery.

Leia raised an eyebrow at him and said, "I think you'll find many religious groups and orders in the history of the galaxy have found it extremely possible."

"Maybe not _fun_ ," Han said; but Leia laughed a little and was willing to catch his eye, so he added, grinning at her, "but possible."

"No, I mean . . ." Luke was frowning at another handful of lakegrass. "If the Jedi were celibate, how am I here?"

There was silence between the three of them for a moment. Han suddenly realized this could be a sore point, something that could turn out to be really upsetting for the kid. Leia seemed to think so, too, because she took a minute to reply and when she did, it was with an air of forced humor.

"Your father must have been as fond of rules as you are," she said.

"Ben never said anything . . ." Luke mused. Han got the feeling he was more taken aback by the idea that his father might have broken the Jedi rules or been dishonorable or something than by the possible expectation of his own celibacy. Still, he followed Leia's example and tried to joke Luke out of his sudden pensive mood.

"Well, if I was trying to recruit the last great hope for the Jedi," he said, "I don't think I'd lead with the celibacy angle, either."

Leia laughed into her hand in an attempt not to insult Luke, or Ben's memory, or the Jedi, or whatever she was worried about. But it seemed like a thing that might not go away completely, this question of whether Skywalker senior was really a Jedi or what. Whether Luke's hopes were really based on anything - let alone his whole vision of who his father was, who he was.

Of course, Han and Leia were maybe the least qualified people around to help him on that point.

Luke's angst aside though, Han was starting to be actually happy to have her there. At any rate she was obviously safer with them, and some of the damage of leaving her alone and unattended at the old base (not that he was stupid enough to put it to her like that) seemed to be undoing itself. The circles under her eyes weren't as dark anyway, and she was less pale.

Well, she was, and then she wasn't. Over the course of a few days she was whiter and whiter all of a sudden, and then really kind of gray; she ate less and less, she looked tired . . . when she started to actually wobble every time she stood up, Han finally butted in.

"You getting sick?" he asked bluntly while she and Luke (who was off patrol and bored) were helping him run maintenance checks on the _Falcon_. Or, Luke was helping. Leia kept freezing with a datapad in her hands, staring down at it as if she'd never seen words before.

"No," she said immediately, defensively.

"Really, 'cause you look terrible," Han replied.

"That's very . . . charming," she said.

The scary part was that she really seemed to have hesitated because she couldn't remember the word.

"You're shaking," he said, as he came closer. "Yesterday you almost fell down every time you got up, now you look like the bulkhead is the only thing keeping you upright."

"I might have a bit of a cold coming on," she said, staring fixedly at her datapad even though the screen had gone dark. "It's nothing to be . . ."

He waited. A while. "Princess?"

"Hmm?"

"It's nothing to be . . . ?"

She blinked slowly at him. "What?"

Great. "Okay, Your Confusedness. You're going to the infirmary."

"We don't have one here," she said. "And no I'm not."

"We do, remember?" Technically it was a tent, but it was there. "The doctor got here last week?"

"What?" She frowned and shook her head, which seemed to be a bad idea because then she leaned even more heavily against the bulkhead. "I'm fine, I'm not - going anywhere. We need to finish -"

"Yes, you are going. Come on, put that down -"

"I'm not - I'm _fine_ ," she protested as he wrestled the datapad from her loose grip. Actually it was a wonder she hadn't just dropped it.

"You're not fine, you're coming - Leia!" He'd tried to put an arm around her waist, to lead her from the ship and off to the medical tent, but just as he touched her she went completely limp and almost hit her head against the bulkhead. For a moment he thought she was deliberately making herself harder to move, but no one could be that limp on purpose. "Luke!" he yelled, arms tight around her shoulders, trying to hold her up. Her face was now completely ashen, even her lips, and her eyes were closed.

"What?" Luke yelled back from somewhere around the boarding ramp.

"You see any medics around out there?"

"No?" Luke said, sounding confused.

"Then come help me!"

"You get hurt?" Luke asked as his footsteps came closer. "Do - _what happened_?" He stood in a doorway staring at Leia.

"She's been getting sick for days, help me get her to the infirmary."

"Right." Assessing the situation, Luke scooped up Leia's legs and waited while Han struggled to readjust her dead weight against his chest so that he could get one arm under her knees. "Good?" Luke asked.

Han nodded. "Got her. Can you hit the - what are you -"

Luke was gently tucking Leia's arm over her stomach so that it didn't dangle, but Han didn't have time for tenderness.

"Get the bay door?" he said.

Luke went, looking worried. "She's really out," he said.

"Yeah," Han said tersely. It seemed too long. "Follow us in case -"

"Yeah."

But he made it to the medical tent without dropping her, despite the strain from her awkward positioning. Fortunately the new doctor was standing right by the doorway, and she was yelling for a cot before Han could say anything.

"Injured?" she asked, taking in the sight of Leia limp in his arms.

"No, she's been getting sick and she just passed out . . ."

"I'm going to need a scanner," she told a medic somewhere. To Han she said, "Lay her down - carefully -"

He was as gentle as he could be, but it was a relief to get her deposited on the cot. "It's been at least five minutes," he said, aware that he was starting to sound frantic. "She hasn't woken up . . ."

"Is she normally in good health?"

"Very," Han replied after a second's thought. She'd been eating decently since she arrived on base - until she got sick - so he didn't think her lost weight before that was worth mentioning.

"All right now," the doctor said. "You know, I've been a member of this rebellion for two weeks now, and in that time I've seen seven cases of spacer's flu. I'm sure that's what this is." Her gaze took in him and Luke, who had followed them into the tent. "This is normally the part where I give the speech about patient privacy and kick everybody out, but since she's not helping us much - I'll keep the one who's answering questions." She looked at Luke. "Sorry, friend. Out."

With a slightly abashed look, Luke slipped out of the tent. He was probably right outside listening.

A stool had appeared next to Leia's cot; Han dropped gratefully onto it and took her hand. She did not respond.

"All right." The doctor's eyes flickered over Han as she was firing up the scanner. "The fun part is - the doctor who handled things before me was afraid of his records ending up in the hands of the Empire and being used against the patients - you know, you come in for a fever and the record becomes proof that you joined the rebellion, you're a traitor. So he kept all the records in code. No one's under their real name -" the scanner beeped to life "- and there's no way to match them up other than guessing from age, blood type, anything unique they have, et cetera. And of course with this population - more humans than not, you're all the same age, there are only so many blood types . . . it's taking forever. But at least the scanner will give us some diagnostic information, even if we can't match it up with her medical history just yet."

"Oh," Han said, somewhat taken aback by the flood of information.

"What's her name?"

"Leia." Was it odd that the woman didn't recognize the princess? Maybe she hadn't spent a lot of time watching the intergalactic news programs.

"That's sweet. Leia. Oh, good," the doctor said as the scanner beeped around Leia's upper body. "So that's in order - she hasn't had any side effects from her injections, has she?"

"Injections?" Han repeated.

"Her contraceptive injections," the doctor said, moving the scanner over Leia's abdomen in a businesslike way. "She hasn't had any dizzy spells or fainting, any irregular bleeding, changes to her cycle?"

Apparently he was still capable of blushing like a teenager. "Why would I know that?" he asked, horrified. He wondered if Luke could hear and if he would be scandalized.

Not to mention, Leia would kill him if she ever found out he'd been discussing her . . . _cycles_.

Oddly, the doctor's eyes softened as she glanced his way. "Not much older than she is, are you?" she said. Before Han could protest, she continued, "You know, before this I was at a hospital in the Outer Rim. A lot of my practice sort of informally involved counselling - well, we saw a lot of spacer families there. A girl about sixteen or seventeen, husband _maybe_ just barely of age . . . usually a couple of younger foundlings they were looking after; the kind of families that make themselves when kids have nobody else."

Han nodded. He'd seen enough of those determined, proud little families in his travels.

"A lot of 'em have no idea how marriage is supposed to work - well, they've never seen it, have they? But they try." Registering one last beep, the doctor put the scanner aside. "I know it seems embarrassing, but this really is the kind of thing most husbands and wives do talk about. It's important if you want to make decisions together about your family -"

Han finally caught on and stammered out, "No no no - I'm not her husband." Too late he realized that made it sound like someone else was. "I mean, she doesn't have one. She just - it was my ship she was standing on when she passed out."

The doctor looked almost equally horrified - probably because she shouldn't have been discussing Leia's _contraception_ with him if he wasn't family. "You knew all about her," she said apologetically. "I assumed - I'm so sorry."

"We're friends," he said, which was true. Right? "We work together a lot - but friends. Not husbands. I - you know what I mean."

Smiling again, the doctor said, "Got it."

"Should she still be unconscious?" Han burst out, fidgeting on his stool. "It's been a really long time now."

"She's actually not unconscious anymore," the doctor said, her tone soothing. "She's asleep. This happens a lot with the flu - she'll probably sleep most of the next few days. It's how the body fights off the virus."

Han realized he was still holding Leia's hand, which was probably not doing a lot for his protestations that they were just friends. Still, he didn't let go.

"We'll get her some fluids and the serum in a drip," the doctor continued, motioning to someone off on the side. "And we'll keep her here till she's back on her feet." She gave Han a gentle smile. "She'll be all right. They all have been so far."

Han started to nod, but then he saw the droid drifting over with the intravenous drip machine and the tray of needles. "No," he said quickly. "Wait. That'll wake her - she can't wake up to that. Give me a second." 

The doctor looked surprised, but motioned for the droid to wait.

Hands on Leia's shoulders, Han gave her a very careful shake. "Leia. Sweetheart, wake up for a second. Just a second, okay? Come on, wake up and look at me." Leia's dark eyes blinked a few times, and her half-open gaze took a moment to locate him beside the bed. "There you are," he said. "Come and - roll onto your side a little, okay, come on." He helped her turn toward him, away from the droid. "Lay your arm out - there you go. They're going to get you on a medicine drip, but you just look at me, all right?"

She nodded sleepily as her eyes closed again.

He couldn't help smiling. "Or - okay, or close your eyes. But just stay facing this way, all right?" One hand on her shoulder and the other brushing back her hair, blocking her view of the droid behind her, he nodded to the doctor.

Leia winced when the needle went into her arm, and her eyes fluttered open, but she stayed looking at Han as intently as she seemed able to manage. "Good girl," he said as the droid finished attaching the drip. He knew he sounded like an idiot, but she was sick and half asleep. She'd never remember, and it was probably too late to make a good impression on the doctor.

As he helped Leia to lie back again, he asked the doctor, "So why'd you join up?"

"The hospital I worked at?" She waited for Han's nod, then continued. "The Empire bombed it. Three weeks ago. While I was off duty. I took a week to mourn my colleagues, then I went looking for something to do about it."

Han couldn't think of anything to say to that, but gave her a respectful nod.

The doctor had picked up a datapad and was frowning at it. "It's nothing to do with this, but there was a funny reading - she hasn't had electrical burns, has she?"

Han nodded, stretching with one hand to point to his own back. "On her back and shoulder. From the Imperial interrogation machines."

The doctor blinked a few times, looked Leia's still form up and down on the cot, and said, "This is Leia Organa."

"I know," Han said.

"Obviously you do." The doctor shook her head. "I'm sorry. I should have realized - in any case I would have known she wasn't your spacewife. I didn't recognize her, I would have expected -"

"White robes?"

"I suppose. Which would be ridiculous out here." 

Han grinned. "I promise never to tell her that you asked me about her cycle."

The doctor covered her face with a hand. "Yes, let's leave that out of the story when I get the chance to meet her - conscious." All business again, she said, "We have cubicles set up - it's just tents within tents, but at least it's some privacy. We can have the medics bring her to one -"

"I'll get her," Han said, "if you'll wheel the IV." Without waiting for a response he scooped Leia into his arms again, then followed the bemused doctor and a medical droid with her IV machine.

They left him alone with her momentarily as he settled her onto the bed in a little curtained cubicle. She was stirring a bit, eyes fluttering, and she leaned into his chest when he tried to lay her down on the pillows.

"Are we cuddling?" he asked, teasing - and then immediately felt bad, because she was barely conscious and tiny pained noises were coming from her throat, and she was really sick and must have been miserable. "Hey, we can do that," he said in quick atonement. He sat down on the edge of the bed himself and kept her tucked against his chest. "I'll stay till you're asleep again, all right?"

There was no response, but she seemed comfortable enough. He brushed a hand over her hair - thought about unpinning it for her, but decided against that for now - and ran his fingers down her arm, straightening out the tubes and ending with a soft stroke over the back of her hand. 

He'd missed her so much, he had to face how big a part of his life she was now - her, and Luke. They might not be a teenage spacer family, but it wasn't far off. Things were more right when they were together.

He gave her a light, tiny kiss at her hairline, determining she was asleep. "I love you, you know," he whispered, before lowering her out of his arms and down onto the pillows. It was true - he didn't have to think about _how_ or in what way or _as_ what - he did love her, and it would be unbearable if anything happened to her, and he wanted her near him so that he could see that she was safe at all times. 

How he was going to reconcile that with his debt to Jabba . . . he didn't know.


	10. in someone else's shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke muses.

**Part 10: Luke; 1 ABY**

Things that were not difficult to understand:

1\. Flying. Flying was pretty much the least confusing thing there was. Not that he recognized every single instrument in the cockpit of an X-Wing the first time he was ever in one, but they were easy enough to figure out if you could read Basic and knew your way around small craft in general.

And they all handled different, but in the end, once you were out of atmosphere, it all just sort of flowed. 

Which maybe had something a little bit to do with the Force? General Rieekan had once said something about the Jedi that made Luke wonder, but he'd never asked Ben whether it was the Force that made flying feel so natural for him. It might make sense - but on the other hand, it seemed pretty natural for Han, too, and Han definitely was not using the Force.

2\. Han. Han _tried_ to be difficult to understand, but the fact was he just wasn't. He tried to seem purely selfish and opportunistic, even greedy, and Luke had fallen for that for about a couple of hours once. When they were going up against the Death Star and Han had left. With some crap explanation about not getting to spend his reward for rescuing the princess if he was dead.

Of course he'd come back, but that wasn't even the point.

What Luke had finally spotted in Han was that the older man was a survivor through and through. That didn't make him selfish necessarily, it just made him really picky about the things he was willing to die for. To save a lot of strangers (even a _whole lot_ of strangers) - no, probably not. To save the galaxy? He'd call that politics. 

Some people would be willing to die for politics - obviously, lots of them were, or the rebellion would be a whole lot smaller. Han just wasn't one of them.

For money? No . . . but for the chance at a _lot_ of money, enough to change his and Chewie's lives; for that he might take a pretty big risk.

For pride, or honor? Luke was fairly sure those were things a survivor couldn't always afford.

For his friends, though? For people he really cared about? He tried to act like he didn't really care about anyone other than himself, but he _had_ been willing to risk dying for Luke. Not to make sure the Death Star got destroyed; some of the rebels might fool themselves into thinking that was what Han cared about, but it wasn't. He'd come back to make sure Luke made it out alive.

For Chewie? No question. That life debt sure seemed to go both ways by now, whether Chewie would ever acknowledge that or not.

For Leia? Definitely.

. . . he'd leave the topic of Leia for later.

3\. Chewie. 

Okay, Chewie was _literally_ difficult to understand, because Wookiee speech apparatus couldn't produce human sounds and Shyriiwook just sounded like a dog growling underwater unless you knew it really well. But in translation, Chewie was pretty easy to get. He carried his Wookiee customs and traditions and honor with him wherever he went. He genuinely loved Han like a brother, more than just an obligation. He thought most humans, including Han, were sort of hilarious most of the time unless they were pissing him off. He also thought most humans were basically children, especially Luke and Leia - who he always seemed to be fighting the urge to carry around like a cub. Which Leia would not appreciate.

4\. The Rebel Alliance, sort of.

In some ways the Alliance was also a mess to understand - in the day to day, in the details, "in the weeds" (this was a Corellian expression he'd learned from Wedge. Tatooine didn't have weeds.). People, especially at the command level, were constantly drifting in and out, because only some of them, like Leia or Rieekan or Mon Mothma, were open and flagrant about their participation. Some of the leaders were still trying to maintain a facade of being loyal Imperial citizens on their own planets. Jurisdiction changed all the time too; one day Leia would be in charge of something, the next it would seem she had switched half her responsibilities with Rieekan's. 

Also, Luke had no idea of orders of rank or address or what uniforms meant or who was subordinate to what. People like Han and Leia, who'd either grown up in these hierarchies or had military training, knew on sight what a being's insignia meant and whether he or she should be addressed as "general" or "colonel" or "lieutenant" or what. Despite Luke's dreams of attending an Imperial academy, these were things he'd never read about or learned. He didn't know when to salute or whose orders to follow and whose he could countermand. He didn't know when to wear his flight suit and when he might be supposed to wear the officer's uniform he'd been issued.

Tatooine also had no expression about being "thrown in at the deep end," for obvious reasons (that one he'd learned from a mechanic from Coruscant), but it exactly described what had happened to him. Being made a pilot on his first day and an officer shortly thereafter was a lot like Chewie "teaching" him to swim by pitching him in the lake.

But that was the details. In the big picture, the Alliance was easy to understand. End the Empire. Restore democracy. No slavery. No genocide. That was pretty much it. 

Luke could get behind that.

Things that were difficult to understand:

1\. The Alliance, sort of. See above.

2\. The vast majority of women.

This was not a new thing, or unique to the women of the Alliance. He hadn't understood the girls he'd grown up with on Tatooine, either. They just never seemed to say what they actually meant. And they'd complain that other guys were mean, but then go out with them and not him.

(When he said this to Leia once, she sternly explained that (a) being nice did not entitle him to women's attention, and (b) being mean in order to get women's attention was not an option. Being Leia, she actually said the "a" and "b" part. He accepted that this was sound advice and certainly did not plan to start acting like a Hutt around the women on base. He just still didn't quite understand.)

Alla, for example. Her tent was next to his and she seemed to make a point of walking to breakfast with him every morning, and she parked her A-Wing near his X-Wing (he told Han this once, and Han said it sounded like some kind of very hygienic Empire sex manual and didn't stop laughing for an hour). And she was always telling him he looked cute and stuff. Except she flirted with Wedge whenever she got the chance, and Luke had seen them wandering off into the trees together once after dinner.

He couldn't figure it out at all.

3\. Leia. Sort of.

Well, Leia was really a couple of different points.

3\. How he felt about Leia.

When he'd seen her little holo projected from R2-D2, even though it was grainy and staticky and tiny, he'd been sure she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He might have mentally amended that to "girl" once he saw her up close and realized she looked even younger than him, but still. You couldn't _not_ want to be near her, see her smile, maybe even touch her. She was tons prettier than the girls who ignored Luke on Tatooine, and better still (even though she called him short the first time she saw him), she _didn't_ ignore him. On the contrary. She spent extra time with him, ate with him, followed his training and his promotions - she seemed to save her most brilliant smile just for him. He felt happy and warm and strong every time he saw her smile like that.

But.

He felt happy and warm and _right_ when she was around, as if something had been missing and wasn't anymore. When he came back from a mission and she hugged him, he felt the Force singing around him, somehow louder and friendlier and easier to sense.

But. Anytime he thought about doing anything else with her - the time he'd given her a quick daring kiss after a party on base, just as chaste as the one she'd given him on the Death Star, for instance; and had immediately thought about trying another one but maybe less quick - there was a something else. A feeling - he didn't know what. The Force? Couldn't tell. It just . . . stopped him. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what he even felt except that it wasn't fear - it was just a "no."

He wondered sometimes whether he was sensing her feelings without being aware - maybe she didn't want him to kiss her, or to say anything romantic to her, and his Force sense was letting him feel that?

He adored her. He loved how warmth spread through all his limbs when he looked at her. But he just couldn't picture actually doing . . . you know. That. With her. When he'd first seen her holo he'd been maybe thinking just the smallest bit along those lines (who wouldn't?) but now - no. 

It made no sense.

He could definitely picture it with Alla though, or one or two of the others -

One at a time. Obviously.

\- and he could make peace with the Force or whatever it was telling him Leia was off limits, if someone else would just give him a shot?

Maybe he needed to talk to Han again.

4\. Leia and Han.

No sense. Of any kind.

For one thing, they'd started complaining about each other literally the first second they met. Actually, now that he thought about it, it was worse than that. They'd started complaining about each other _before_ they met. Han hadn't wanted to take the risk of saving Leia at all.

(Luke didn't really blame him for that anymore, he understood how unlikely Han was to risk his skin for someone he didn't know. See above. If Leia were captured now, he knew Han would be tearing the place apart. Which was just another piece of the _no sense at all_ that was Han and Leia.)

And Leia had been already complaining - had somehow right from the beginning decided that Han, whose name she didn't even know, was responsible for the flaws in their rescue plan.

Nothing about this had changed. Leia assumed Han was responsible for everything that went wrong with the _Falcon_ (including accidents and pure acts of nature), anything unexpected that came up on a mission, any unsavory characters they ran into . . . And Han assumed Leia was behind any order he didn't like, any assignment he didn't want to take, any inconvenience to himself or his ship. And neither of them was shy about expressing any of this. Or about whether they had an audience when they did.

And yet Leia seemed to be helping with the _Falcon_ whenever she didn't have something else to do. Han volunteered to fly her missions even when he or his ship seemed sort of (or entirely) unnecessary. They teamed up on Luke, which was completely unfair because they were both just a little too quick for him. They made each other laugh.

(Only sometimes _at_ Luke.)

They all holed up on the _Falcon_ sometimes - travelling together had made them all sort of domestic, and in the rush and crowds and confusion of a large base it was nice sometimes to eat dinner in the tiny lounge and play sloppy games of sabacc and sleep in a quiet bunk instead of, in Luke's case, with three other pilots. But it was a badly kept secret among Alliance personnel that Leia slept on the _Falcon_ even more often than that. 

Luke had wandered in every now and then looking for Han and found her sleeping in the lounge, so he mostly believed that was what she did all those times she wasn't in her assigned quarters. From extended missions together he knew she sometimes had nightmares, didn't always sleep well, so he assumed she just preferred to sleep near other people or else felt safer enclosed within the ship. He assumed.

Of course most people assumed (out loud, when neither she nor Han was around to hear) that she was sharing Han's bed. Luke . . . didn't think that was the case?

He wasn't sure he could completely rule it out, though.

For one thing, out loud they weren't the nicest to each other, but then Han always seemed to have a hand on her back or her arm or her shoulder - or to be touching her casually, a quick brush of her hair out of her face or a touch to her knee as she stood up from dinner. Luke could never pull off casual. He was much more comfortable now than he had been, when Leia hugged him or threaded her arm through his, but he couldn't quite manage to look as though he'd touched her without thinking it out first. Han did. He touched her as if it were instinct, and she responded the same way.

And she didn't really want other people to see, which . . . that kind of had to mean something, right? She'd hug Luke in the middle of the hangar or the landing field, in front of the entire Alliance if they were there, but if Han put an arm around her and she noticed that anyone was watching, she'd duck away. 

Except one time. On this makeshift base, sitting around the fires at night - Luke hadn't been there when it happened so he didn't know _how_ it had happened, but when he arrived (sitting himself down self-consciously next to Beyata from Dantooine and trying not to blush at the fact that her flight suit was sort of unzipped) Leia was actually asleep with her head on Han's shoulder. It was a quiet grouping - whether by happenstance or because everyone else was trying not to wake Leia - but she still never would have allowed these others to see her leaning on him like that if she'd been awake.

Han, for his part, was joining in the half-whispered conversation and trying to look like he was just paying attention to what Wedge was saying, but the whole time he had this quietly delighted look on his face that couldn't have been about water filtration systems. He looked afraid to move. His fingertips, if it wasn't a trick of the firelight, were making tiny gentle stroking movements in her hair.

It kind of made Luke ache, if he was honest.

If she'd woken up, there was a fifty/fifty chance she'd have punched Han in the stomach; and yet there were times, looking at the two of them together, when Luke felt like he should look away.

No sense at all.

But otherwise, really, Leia was a Thing that Was Not Difficult to Understand.

Person. Woman.

Her ideals were probably loftier than Luke's but she'd also seen a lot more and she was more jaded. If anything she was naive about people who were on the right side - if they were on the good side she expected them to be good. People on the wrong side, she absolutely expected to be corrupt. They never surprised her. Flawed people on her own side sometimes did.

She was proud and she was angry and both of those things were trying to protect her heart from another Death Star, from another loss like Alderaan. Luke could understand that, just like he could understand her sometimes need to be quiet and know she was with friends. 

Yeah, him-and-Leia-and-Han was complicated and maybe confusing, but - Leia was just Leia. 

Not a mystery, really.


	11. a walk into the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia journeys to her own recent past, with Han beside her - and yet alone.

**Part 11: 1 ABY**

 

"You know," Han said, "you don't have to do _every_ crazy dangerous mission yourself."

Hands on her hips, Leia glowered at him - the more so because she felt a bit like a petulant child, and that was annoying. "Do you actually think the Alliance only undertakes one intelligence or recruitment operation every two months? Other people do all the ones in between, you know."

"My point -" he began.

"And," Leia interrupted, "I don't hear you complaining when you're the one flying the missions."

"Um," said Luke, who was halfway up a ladder tinkering with something in the open cockpit of his X-Wing.

"Point taken," Leia said. "I hear you complaining lots. But not about whether or not we should do the job in the first place."

"I don't complain about _us_ doing anything," Han stressed. "I _volunteer_ to fly you on your missions so you don't end up dead. I'm complaining right now about you taking on another mission when you were deathly ill ten minutes ago -"

"Two weeks," she said.

"And I can't take you because I'm leaving for Kamino in two days."

Leia dug her fists harder into her sides in an attempt to keep her temper under control. "I actually did manage to survive numerous missions for the Alliance before I met you. While still pretending to be a loyal member of the Imperial Senate."

"If by 'survived' you mean the Imps were nice enough to delay your execution until after we could rescue you, then yeah. Good job." He was practically toe to toe with her by now. In a minute he'd point a finger at her nose and she'd be half tempted to bite him.

She was pretty sure she heard Luke say "uh-oh" under his breath, up there on his ladder.

"I see," she said, remaining icily calm just because Luke apparently didn't think she could. "So you think I spent my entire career before you showed up just sitting around in captivity? I was on the Death Star for three days. Before that I was going on relief missions for the rebellion for _four years_. It's amazing I managed to survive all that time without your piloting."

"It kind of is," Han agreed, glaring down at her.

"And let's not forget your first-class subterfuge skills," she added. "Like on that mission to the Rim where your brilliant tactic was telling the contact that Han Solo is working for the rebels now. Genius!"

"He _knew_ me! What the hell was I supposed to do, pretend to be my own evil twin?"

"Why would an evil twin be working for the rebellion?"

Han threw up his hands. "Nobody ever has a _good_ twin! Watch a holo sometime."

"When would I have time for watching holos, when I'm apparently running the entire rebellion by myself?" Intellectually she knew the argument was barely making sense anymore, but she certainly wasn't going to let him win. "I thought I was the one going on _every_ crazy mission?"

"You are!"

"As opposed to you flying off into who knows what in Kamino?"

"Kamino's a fluff run!" Han retorted. " _I'm_ not the one looking for a new way to get myself killed once a week. I'm only going because Antilles said they needed some cargo space; any idiot with a freighter could do it."

"Apparently any idiot with a freighter is."

"Hey, I'm wasted on a job like that," he said. And there was the finger point. It'd taken longer than she expected. "I should dump it and fly you to Coruscant so I can be there to watch when the Imps catch you on their monitors."

"Maybe you should," she said, staring him down.

"Fine."

" _Fine_."

"I'll go tell command I'm switching assignments." Han dropped the spanner he was holding and started to stride off.

Wait.

"Wait," she said.

"And there it is," Luke murmured, singsong.

"No time," Han called over his shoulder. "Gotta make sure they can find Wedge another idiot with a freighter."

Leia stared up at the sky. "Did I just -"

"Yup," Luke said. "Actually can you pass me up that spanner? I think it might be the size I've been looking for."

"He's -" Leia stammered in confused rage.

"Getting himself assigned to your mission, yeah. Spanner?"

Sighing, she picked it up and stood on her toes to hand it to him.

The problem with Coruscant, of course, wasn't that the system itself was especially dangerous or volatile. On the contrary, being the Imperial capital it was peaceful (only because the constant presence of thousands of stormtroopers kept any trouble from arising). The _problem_ was that it was the Imperial capital. The senate had met there. The Empire's highest command was stationed there. Hundreds of people at least who might easily recognize Leia, not to mention the sophisticated monitoring systems Han had mentioned. Leia had lived on Coruscant. Its facial recognition programs had had ample opportunity to capture her image, and it would take serious work to evade them without looking suspicious.

Not that Han in particular would be any help in that regard.

"Let me just point out again," she said as they were coming out of lightspeed, "that a partner who's equally wanted for crimes against the Empire is not exactly an asset on this mission? Not to mention one whose face they also have on record because oh right, he was _enrolled in their academy_."

"You've added a lot of lines to my face since then, sweetheart," he said, attention on the controls. "Maybe they won't recognize me."

"If they do -"

"If they do, nobody will care. Nobody on Coruscant cares about a piddly case of desertion -"

"And smuggling."

"They expect smuggling. Where do you think those Grand Moffs get their illegal spice, and their Outer Rim liquor, and that silk they use for whatever the hell they use it for? If anyone actually went after smugglers in this system, Coruscant would stop being a luxury posting." 

"Sheets," Leia said. She stared sightlessly at the distant form of Coruscant coming closer.

"Huh?"

"The silk. It's for sheets." She paused. "For beds."

"I know what sheets are for, thanks," he drawled with a lazy look in her direction. "You know this plan is actually about as good as it gets."

Not that that was saying much. "I hate this plan," she said.

"Of course you do. It offends your _dignity_."

"I have less dignity than you think." In fact it wasn't her pride that was offended - she'd played the role of his woman before and, gods help her, she almost certainly would again. If they didn't both get killed this time.

It was just that their plan relied too much, much too much, on Han's claim to know where the monitoring cameras were.

"There's no way my 'old friend' didn't talk," Han said. He actually released the controls to make little hash marks in the air with his fingers. "He'll have told everybody we know -"

"That Han Solo is working on behalf of the -"

" _That Han Solo_ ," he interrupted loudly, "is traveling with a - uh -"

"Prostitute."

He looked at her carefully, seemingly disturbed by her coolness. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Woman," he said pointedly. "A certain kind of woman, maybe -"

"The kind he's willing to strangle his old friends for."

He looked at her more sharply now, but she had no intention of saying more. 

And that was another thing.

"This whole plan," she said, for about the eighth time, "depends on him not having seen a 'wanted' poster in the interim and realized who I am."

"True," he said, as he'd said every time. "And if he's told half the galaxy that I'm travelling around with the extremely wanted Princess of Alderaan, we're going to have some trouble. But he won't have, because if he's found out who you are, he's going to keep that to himself. You don't give away useful information." He gave her an odd look, almost coy, before turning back to the controls. "But anyway, I don't think we're going to have to worry about him recognizing you from the posters. He wasn't looking at your face."

_That_ part, he hadn't said before. She didn't blush, but she kind of wanted to kick him in the shins.

"I hate this plan," she repeated, sighing.

The plan - if you could even call it that - revolved around the annual Festival of Summer Light. Not exactly the Empire's speed, but it had been held on Coruscant for centuries and the elite of the system held it sacred, and the Empire held the elite, and their money, sacred. Or they did as long as the money was still supporting the Empire. It was an endless, seemingly unbreakable circle that made Leia feel sick and despairing all at once.

But the Festival. It meant lots of people out in the streets at night, big crowds into which to disappear. And more importantly it meant ships from off-world, lots of them, landing around the remote Festival Field on the side of the planet that - Han _swore_ \- was usually too completely empty and uninhabited to have monitoring cameras installed.

He _swore_.

Leia was pretty seriously concerned.

Still and all. Their landing went unremarked, amidst a crowd of off-worlders of varying - very varying - types and classes and origins who'd come for the festival. The _Falcon_ was landed in the thick of things, other ships of all kinds parked all around. A speeder rented from an opportunistic entrepreneur carried them into the capital, a hood pulled low over Leia's face, throwing her recognizable features into shadow.

They came into the city in late afternoon, the sun slanting soft and diminished into their eyes. "Down," Han said once or twice as they flew, and she ducked her head to avoid some camera or other. They were dead already if he was wrong about where the cameras were.

This was the one part of the plan he hadn't liked, had in fact protested with colorful language, creative curses, and suggestions of about twelve people, including himself, who should accomplish this task other than Leia.

His arguments failed. Leia was along on this mission for the sole reason that she and no one else in the rebellion had the requisite knowledge of Coruscant's government buildings.

He parked their speeder across the plaza - once green and beautiful, now spartan and cold - from the apartment building where she had once lived. It was funny. In a year of mourning it had never really occurred to her that one place she had called home, albeit temporarily, did still exist. Her balcony had been that one there - she counted the floors up. She'd had plants. The current resident, if there was one, didn't.

"Your Highness," Han said.

Even if he'd been in the habit of using her name, Coruscant had voice-triggered recorders as well as cameras. "Leia" wasn't common enough to slip by. 

And he'd reminded her that she was looking up, showing her face to the sky and whoever else might be looking. She ducked.

"I lived there," she whispered hoarsely.

"Le- your highness . . ."

She shook her head. "Let's go. It'll be dark soon and they'll close."

She couldn't let the cameras see her face, but otherwise she was the perfect one, the only one. Only she could stride into the Imperial Archive, once the Archive of the Galactic Republic, like a regular researcher, like someone who did this every day. Only she, among the Rebellion personnel, had used the Archive legitimately to research galactic history while a senator. Only she had observed the researchers and teachers from the Imperial academies going about their work. 

On any other mission, Alliance Intelligence would have suggested disguising her with fancy prosthetics, giving her the distracting face markings or head shape or extra protuberances of another humanoid species, just in case anyone thought there was any chance this might be the Princess of Alderaan. But nonhumans were not allowed in the Imperial Archive. The best they could give her was a pair of boots with lifts in them, changing her height from what the Imperials would have on record and also giving her an awkward gait very different from her energetic, girlish stride. And the hood, held in place by a band across her forehead that served a dual purpose - it was made of a material that would supposedly interfere with cameras, blurring any image captured. And a fake identification card.

None of this, she reminded herself as she entered the archive, would do anything to protect her from being recognized in person by someone who knew her face. 

She steeled herself to be calm. The galaxy - or the Inner worlds, those who watched the holo news - knew her in elaborate traditional hairstyles, white gowns, heavy silver jewelry. They knew her by what she wore and how she stood, by her place at Bail Organa's side in the senate or at her mother's side at home. Without all those trappings, the backdrop of a palace behind her, formal robes draping her, she was a fairly plain and ordinary human girl. Her eye and hair color were commonplace. Her stature was a bit out of the ordinary but it only made her look younger. There was nothing, no marking, no scar (other than those hidden by her clothing) that would allow anyone to describe her with any real specificity. She should be safely anonymous.

She was just being affected by Han's nervousness, outside in the speeder.

The fake identification scanned correctly at the door, allowing her access. Her eyes cast modestly down, hood shadowing her face, like a proper girl from any number of cultures that expected such behavior of women, she followed familiar paths through the Archive.

Unexpectedly, it was the smell that got her, made her feel like she had traveled back in time. She knew it as well as the smell of her old school, her apartment building lobby, her father's office. It was the mustiness of old things overlaid with Imperial sterility; dust and floor polish and the ozone smell of aging computers. Her head reeled a little. She almost expected to retrieve a file and return to her father's senate apartments for a late dinner and strategy session with his aides.

_Chin up, Leia,_ she instructed herself. Or rather, _down_. Her mind repeated the mantra she'd been clinging to since Alderaan was - since the Death Star. _Do this thing. Do just this one thing. Then, do the next thing._ What else was there?

She didn't have to think about where she was going, which surely helped her fly under the radar of anyone who might be scrutinizing strangers. Down this corridor, then that one, then the lift. The Astropolitical Room was as ugly as she remembered, but the hideous orange chairs were almost charming in their pure familiarity. The glass doors yielded to her access card, then closed again behind her with the same little squeaky plink as always. She'd never thought this awful little room would feel friendly.

_It's not_ , she told herself, a stern reminder that she was in the heart of enemy territory. _Get the files and go._

_Do this thing. Then do the next thing. And eventually, all the things will be done._

Someone had taught her that, a nanny maybe. They'd probably been talking about tidying her room. If only she could remember what was supposed to happen after all the things were done.

She sat down at a painfully familiar terminal with a pulsing cursor waiting for her input. No reason the Imperials should be thinking about the Anoat system at all. No reason a search for it in their computers should be suspicious. No reason anyone _shouldn't_ want them, either. The system was represented in the senate like anywhere else.

Like almost anywhere else.

She scrolled through the results, scanning as the techs and the intelligence gurus had coached her. Data grouped by planet, yes. Climate. Suns. Satellites. Classification of natural hazards; flora and fauna with a red mark next to any believed to be dangerous. And, most importantly, surface features and survey maps. 

Not that the Alliance didn't already have this information. For the most part they did; their scouts had been scanning for months now. The Imperial information, inaccessible from outside the Imperial computer systems, would be more complete, true; but the important part of Leia's mission was really step two.

She fought the urge to look around behind her, instead feigning a cough so she could glance down and under one elbow. Still no one else in the room.

She slipped the chip the techs had given her into the computer and waited for it to copy the files. Then, she'd do the next thing.

A whooshing sound overhead was the return of a physical file, from the old days of the Old Republic, through the Archive's system of pneumatic tubes. Another sound she knew as well as the sound of a speeder starting up. Or a blaster finding its target.

Once the files were copied, she had another chip to insert. This one would (if it worked properly) erase all the data the Empire had on the surface features of the planets and moons in the Anoat system. If and when the Empire tried to research likely locations for a hidden base in that system, they'd find only a notation that the unpopulated worlds hadn't been mapped.

It might not buy the rebellion a _lot_ of time, but at least the Empire wouldn't be able to gather data on the system without sending scouts, and the Alliance would be watching for that.

Command had decided this would probably be too risky to try more than once, and it would raise suspicions if too much data were found to be missing. The remote Anoat system was their best bet for a base big enough to home most of their personnel and equipment, while still being able to be hidden. They hoped. So this was the priority.

Leia could hardly believe it had been this easy. Her heart pounded beneath her plain shirt and brown hooded jacket as she retraced her steps to the entrance. Any moment now, surely, she'd be stopped. Someone would be suspicious. Someone would have been watching her the whole time. Any moment.

The doors slid open and let her back out onto the streets of Coruscant. Digging her nails into her palms, she fought the urge to run. Out of a familiar place she'd probably never see again. Down the stairs. Across the street. Around the corner, to where Han was waiting nervously with the speeder, so she could go back to pretending to be his date to the festival.

They hadn't been in contact while she was inside; too much chance of someone overhearing or intercepting.

"Need a lift?" he asked casually, though his voice wavered a bit.

"I think it's time I saw the Festival," she replied evenly as she climbed aboard.

"See anybody you knew?" he asked once they were underway, the speeder's engine making him difficult to hear.

"No." Was she disappointed? She probed a little. Yes, maybe. Even though being recognized could have meant capture or death, even though she'd been on edge and afraid the whole time of just such a thing happening - yes, she was a bit disappointed. Part of her had expected to see an old friend or two in the corridors of the Archive, as it would have been . . . before. Maybe she'd been hoping for just a quick glance of a friend, or to meet someone she could trust not to betray her - though who would that be, in this climate? No. Come to think of it, she'd felt her friends' presences in the Archive, like ghosts. But she hadn't, and shouldn't have, really expected to see them there.

"Let's go," she said unnecessarily. They were already going.

At the Festival Field they landed into chaos, the annual excuse for people to be as un-Imperial as it was safe to be. All humans; no one would risk being _that_ un-Imperial. But they were dressed in light, informal summer clothes, and some of them, women and some men too, wore crowns of flowers in their hair. There was music coming from so many different places across the miles and miles of field that it was impossible to separate it out. Just _sound_. And laughter, and the smell of grass and flowers and fresh air, all rare enough in this Empire.

It had no doubt cost a lot of bribery and corruption to convince the Empire to leave this bit of Coruscant unmolested, but Leia could almost think it was worth it.

Han immediately disappeared to check on the million and one small factors that could affect their ability to slip away unnoticed. Leave at a strange time; arouse suspicion. Cut in on someone's scheduled departure; arouse suspicion. Appear too anxious to leave . . . well, and so on. No one was anxious to leave this place. They were only anxious, under their veneer of carefree fun, that it would end.

There was some kind of dance going on closest to where Han had left her. The music was being played on citars, and if she listened carefully she actually could pick it out from all the other music in the field. Dancers whirled in couples - those in the center were doing some predetermined combination of steps, but on the outside of the loose circle other couples just spun each other giddily.

There was a sick and afraid feeling in Leia's stomach, and it wasn't until she let herself sink down onto the grass that she understood it. It was the party last week - not a formal party of course, a raucous, spontaneously erupted rebel affair - and that man. A good-looking man she didn't know, who asked her to dance and drew her away from Luke, into the crowd.

He didn't do anything to her but dance and try to charm her. He was nice. He asked gentle questions about her while they danced. _This is normal_ , Leia had thought. _This is how people do it_. She was still pale and a bit thin and just a little shaky after her illness, but this man smiled at her, gave little brushing touches to her shoulder, her arm, and made her feel pretty. When he kissed her, she let him. It didn't feel like anything - well, other than the purely physical touch of his mouth on hers - but it wasn't unpleasant. _This is what people do_ , she told herself, and thought about letting him lead her off away from the party, as she was pretty sure he wanted to do.

The panic set in, not because she was afraid of him or what he might do, but because she realized she could already smell him on her clothes. Not that it was a bad smell - some kind of unfamiliar soap or cologne, nothing terrible - but it was just _wrong_. Wrong and different and if she went back to his quarters, if she started something with him, if she let him into _her_ quarters, then, she was suddenly sure, nothing would ever be right, nothing would ever smell like her and home again. Her space would be someone else's and not her own, forever.

She fled, to her eternal shame, to the _Falcon_. Not that Han was there - he was at the party. She just sat on a crate with her back against his ship, until her breathing had settled down and she didn't feel like she was going to be sick, and the fresh air had dissipated some of the unfamiliar smell on her. Until she'd let herself cry a few tears, just a few, over the fact that she knew exactly what _right_ and _comfortable_ and _home_ smelled like to her, and it was a fickle vagabond smuggler who could be gone tomorrow as he kept threatening. Then, before Han could come back and find her there - before she could let herself start wondering whether she'd feel it if _he_ kissed her - she'd run to her quarters, stripped off the clothes she was wearing, and washed.

On the Festival Field, she watched the dancers clinging to each other and took deep breaths, and tried not to despair.

Still, when Han came back, it was all she could do to keep herself from burying her face in his shirt.

"They've got the thing once it gets dark," he reported, waving his fingers in the air.

"The bugs come out," she said. The little glowing insects were a Coruscant treasure, almost gone from the parts of the planet that had been taken over by cities.

"And there's music and some kind of light thing on the stage over there." He sat down beside her on the grass. "I'm getting the impression no one would come all the way here for the festival and leave before that."

She nodded. "Probably right."

"So we'll stay for some of it and then sneak out while everyone's watching the show."

She nodded again. A few more hours.

"Are you -" 

She looked at him, but he had apparently no intention of finishing. He just shook his head and looked away.

They moved to the top of a big hill as darkness fell. The first tiny bugs darted around their legs and up to shoulder level, bravely trying to glow in competition with the setting sun. All around them other people settled in to enjoy the show. Han surprised her with a blanket from the ship, spread on the grass for her to lie on, but then he wandered off with a mumbled explanation she didn't really hear.

Alone, she watched the stars become visible. The cacophony of music from all over the field had settled into one concert on the big stage, music so sweet that she wondered if the goal was to make everyone cry. A little glowing bug landed on her hand and she held still, but it flew away.

Something cold and smooth touched her hand, and Han's voice out of the darkness said, "Happy birthday."

It was a cup of wine he was handing her. She sat up and took a sip of it before it all sank in. "You remembered when my birthday is?"

"No," he admitted. He sat beside her on the blanket, cradling his own glass. "I heard Luke and Wedge talking a while back. Guess the pilots were going to take him out for a drink. Or, you know, a lot of drinks." He swallowed a mouthful of his wine. "Didn't know the two of you have the same birthday until I heard him telling the guys."

She nodded. "Same year and all."

"Figures."

She looked at him in the dark, but he didn't explain. Holding the glass steady against the ground, she lay back down and stared at the sky. No one on the hill was paying attention to each other; they were together, but each alone. The spread of stars became three-dimensional in her sight, some fading back while others came closer.

Beside her, Han stretched out on his back as well. All of a sudden she wished, very specifically, for his weight on top of her. She didn't want sex, not exactly, or even . . . she was just feeling the rushing speed of the universe lifting her toward open space, and wished for him between her and the sky. And she wanted - oh, but she wanted him. Holding on to her, anchoring her. She lifted her head enough to take another sip of wine, but it didn't help.

The back of his hand brushed against hers. Brushed, and stayed there. Holding her breath, she transferred her wine glass to her other hand and lay that one back down empty next to his. In another moment he took her hand, the long way round, wrapping their forearms together so they were bound from elbows to fingers.

She breathed shallowly, and didn't cry.


	12. just keeping up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A person should get less mysterious the longer you know them, but Leia is only more.

**Part 12: 1 ABY**

 

Leia had started gritting her teeth when she was around Han.

Well - to be fair. He obviously didn't see her when she _wasn't_ around him, so maybe she was doing it all the time.

He didn't really think so, though. It seemed to be _at_ him, although he didn't know why. He wouldn't mind if it was annoyance at something he was doing on purpose, but first of all he wasn't annoying her on purpose, and secondly it was completely unlike Leia not to just tell him that he was annoying her. If he was. 

The funny thing was . . . so there was a sort of a pattern he'd noticed. They'd be together - not _together_ , but in the same place - and something would happen to make him reach out for her. He didn't do it with no reason, not since that stretch when she hadn't been speaking to him and he still didn't really know why. But something would happen - she'd stumble, or be lifting something heavy or unsteady, or she'd have loose hair falling in her face making her look like a young, vulnerable, kid - and he'd reach out. She wouldn't exactly flinch away, but her jaw would tighten and he could practically hear her teeth grinding.

But then in the end she'd relax, and lean into him.

Was it because he'd fought her so hard over the stupid mission on Coruscant? Sure, it had gone fine - _weirdly_ fine, so fine that without telling her he'd spent hours combing the _Falcon_ for bugs or trackers. He hadn't found a thing, not on the ship, not on himself, and not on the clothes he'd quietly scanned while she was asleep, after she'd changed. That didn't mean the mission had been a good idea, though. It had still been Leia going all alone into the heart of the Imperial government, where she could easily have been recognized and captured without him ever knowing what had happened.

If it was a crime to worry about her getting herself killed - so lock him up.

But in any case he said nothing about her next mission, even when she went without him while he was still on his way back from a cargo run. He was proud of his restraint, even though it was frankly the least dangerous thing she'd done in all the time he'd known her and there wasn't really much to say. Still. 

 

(When she got back, Luke immediately started scolding her - actually _scolding_ Leia, and when did that get to be a thing he did? - about going somewhere without either him or Han. About all the thousands of terrible things that could have happened to her.

Leia hadn't even yelled at him for assuming she couldn't handle things on her own - she was too confused. "We were meeting Wedge's _uncle_ ," she kept saying, looking as baffled as Han kind of felt. "What could possibly have happened?"

"How do you know he's really Wedge's uncle?" Luke asked.

Which only made Leia look more confused. "Well, I guess I don't, but Wedge definitely does."

"And how do we know we can trust Wedge?"

That was when Leia looked at Han, eyes wide, and said, "Did you give him drugs while I was gone?"

Han could do nothing but stammer, "Wh- you assume he couldn't find them on his own? He's got twenty years of experimentation to make up for. Hell, maybe the Force fried his brain."

Han didn't catch on until Luke, waving his arms wildly, started in on "do you even _know_ how worried Han was? He hasn't taken the _Falcon_ apart the whole time you were gone, all he did was pace around command . . ."

For the record, untrue.

"You -" Han said, pointing at Luke with a spanner, "I don't believe it. You're giving me crap."

Leia, who had looked almost stricken (while still confused) at the idea of Han pacing the command center waiting for her return, burst out laughing.

"For the record," Han said, still waving the spanner at Luke, "whenever you grew up - I don't approve."

How worried Han was. Ha.)

 

Rieekan came to see him while Leia was still gone. This immediately concerned Han, and it took him a while to convince himself that he had nothing to feel guilty about. He hadn't actually done anything to Leia, other than possibly annoy her.

Also, Rieekan was the one who gave him most of his jobs, and Han felt stupider the more he thought about why he would ever have assumed this conversation would be about Leia.

Rieekan gave him a wave as he approached. "I haven't forgotten," he said. "We promised to restock your supplies after that run you made to the Outer Rim last month."

"Oh," Han said, gratitude replacing the guilt. "Yeah, we did say that."

"I had the impression it was mostly parts and tech, not foodstores or anything like that." Rieekan was holding a datapad that displayed a list of Alliance inventory codes.

"I'd say that's right," Han agreed. "We could use some stuff from medical though - basic supplies. Her Highness isn't the best at ducking, sometimes."

Rieekan laughed, but gave Han a searching, curious look as he did. "Speaking of," he said.

Oh. So this conversation was about Leia.

Rieekan's eyes squinted up as he considered his words. "Are you . . ."

This was not only going to a place Han would prefer to avoid; it was going there awfully fast. "Are we . . ." he echoed, praying to gods he wasn't sure he believed in for a reprieve.

"I mean . . ." The older man stared off across the hangar. "How do you think she is?"

Well, maybe this was something else after all.

"The Princess?" Han put down the wrench he was holding. "She's - she's all right. Fine." He paused. "Isn't she?"

Rieekan gave a short laugh. "Well, she certainly wants us to think she is. I don't . . ." He trailed off, frowning, then started over. "I know my talking to you could appear like I'm going around her, or treating her like a child - I don't want to do that; I just - I worry about her sometimes, and I know she wouldn't tell me if I asked."

"I don't think she'd tell me if I asked, either, just so you know." Feeling slightly more at ease now that Leia's well-being seemed to be the topic of conversation, and not his relationship with Leia, Han deemed it safe to go back to his work while they talked. "Anything worrying you in particular?"

"No, just - most of the others have talked with the counsellors in medical, you know, at least a time or two."

Han didn't have to ask who "the others" were; Rieekan obviously meant the survivors of Alderaan.

"She hasn't - won't," Rieekan continued. "Not that the counsellors would tell me if she had, of course, but she seems pretty set against it. I worry . . ." He leaned thoughtfully against the _Falcon_ 's hull. "Even without all the weight of everything else, she must miss her parents - _I_ miss her parents. And I can't ever tell her that."

"Why not?" Han asked curiously while twisting a bolt. Seemed like it might make Leia feel better to know that others had valued her parents and missed them, too.

Rieekan shrugged slightly. "I'm worried - she's been trying so hard - and doing well - trying to take Bail's place . . . both of their places. Working with the command, taking on every mission she can, _and_ trying to be all things to all the survivors . . . I guess I worry that if I talk too much about missing her parents, she'll think she isn't doing well enough. That she isn't . . . being Bail and Breha both for us, that she needs to do _more_. And I think doing more might actually kill her."

"Or at least knock her down for a while," Han agreed. Not, he reflected, that that would necessarily be the worst thing. Leia with spacer's flu had been scary and horrible, but at least it had made her rest for a few days.

But no, he couldn't wish a breakdown on her. He felt like she was making it through most of the time just like she'd told him that first night on Yavin 4, by not letting herself really acknowledge everything she'd lost, and if everything did come crashing down on her it would be a serious fall. 

 

His first response hadn't been entirely a lie, though. She _was_ all right, mostly. She was coping. 

He'd see her across the hangar or a meeting room or the command center and she'd be . . . she'd seem . . .

She was just _Leia_. She had this ability to look regally serene one minute and harried the next, and the difference was as small as the narrowing of her eyes. She was always both extremes, mostly calm and a little bit manic, all at once. She took bad news stoically, terrifying news more stoically, and good news the most stoic yet - unless someone managed to really surprise her with it; then she'd be startled into a smile and he'd get a glimpse of the half-hysterical girl who'd greeted him after the Death Star was blown up. She was the princess; she was fine.

He did remember, guiltily, sometimes that he hadn't known her before her world was destroyed and her whole family killed and the responsibility of Alderaan's legacy fell squarely on her shoulders. Maybe she'd been different. Maybe she'd laughed more easily with her father there to tell terrible jokes. Maybe she'd cried when she got hurt, instead of scrunching her eyes shut and pressing her lips together. Maybe she'd been used to tender touches, so it didn't make her grind her teeth. Maybe she wasn't fine now at all.

But she was still going, and who was he to mess with that?

He'd see her sometimes across the command center, and she'd meet his eye, and she'd drop her gaze, and her chin; look away; self-consciously rub her hand across her mouth. Jarringly demure gestures for a girl who was never demure. He didn't know what it meant.

 

Han had developed a very specific system of morals for dealing with Leia. It was definitely allowed to protect her, guard her, watch over her. Allowed, to go on as many of her off-world missions as he could manage. But not allowed to do anything that might give anyone the impression she was special to him, not allowed to show preference.

Allowed, to throw his arm casually around her as he would do with anyone. Not allowed, to close his eyes when he hugged her.

Allowed, to let her fall asleep in the lounge or bunkroom of his ship, where he could watch over her, instead of in her lonely quarters. Sort of big-brotherly. A hundred percent _not_ allowed, to notice the shape of her breasts under her shirt while she slept. Or to think about brushing her hair off her face, or any of a million other completely not-brotherly touches.

There had been a time, a couple weeks or maybe about five minutes, really, when he'd almost thought - when Leia had seemed like maybe she wanted . . .

Not that her _wanting_ would be the end of the story anyway - there were plenty of other things to think about, like the fact that she was ten years younger, not to mention actual royalty and it was therefore kind of possible that some of the things he'd accidentally thought about doing to her were illegal in a couple of systems. There was the fact that - well, Jabba, and that he couldn't stay forever, and that a decent person wouldn't start things with a kid like her if he couldn't stick around. All of that was always going to be true (well, unless he took care of Jabba) (and, well, she'd always be younger than him but she wouldn't always be _so_ young, so there was that).

Still, back before they went to the Rim and she got pissed at him, she'd started looking at him in this . . . way. Through her eyelashes a little, like she was afraid to look all the way up. While standing just a fraction too close for normal conversation. It wasn't flirty; he didn't even think she was doing it on purpose. It had just started to feel like, sometimes when they were talking alone and things were quiet, that they were both thinking about him kissing her.

He wouldn't say that he should have done it, back when it seemed like maybe she wanted it, because he shouldn't have. At least ten reasons why he was right not to. But he still felt like, if it had gone on much longer - or if she ever started looking at him like that again, which so far she hadn't - he'd eventually crack and forget all those reasons. 

That "eventually" might not even take that long. She was a year past majority now, and thanks to the hard work of fighting a war she looked even older. She was a full-fledged leader of a military rebellion. She was still not remotely shy about saying when she didn't like something. Most of the guys, the pilots and the mechanics and the officers, treated her like an equal (or a superior), not like a wounded baby bird. All things considered, while he was happy to have her friendship back and enjoyed the times he got to be close to her in a completely nonromantic way - yeah, if she ever looked at him like _that_ again, once might be all it took. 

(And then he had to go find a bolt to tighten somewhere on his ship, so he could stop thinking about pressing the little last princess of Alderaan against the hull.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading this story, and thank you for your patience. Ever have a chapter that literally just tells you "no, don't write me, just go watch tv!" This is that one.


	13. a bit of a limp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blast from the past . . . and then just some blasting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another deathly slow update; I blame my vacation. Which I thoroughly enjoyed.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Part 13: 1 ABY**

The third base in as many months. This time, fortunately, not because the Empire had found them, but because they were stretching themselves across this corner of the galaxy on purpose. Instead of moving the entire Alliance whenever a base was compromised, they'd started distributing operations across multiple bases. If one were found, only about a quarter of their total ships and personnel would need to be moved at one time.

That was the idea. In practice it made coordination harder, communication sometimes nearly impossible since channels were constantly being intercepted, and caused new personnel problems on what seemed like at least a weekly basis.

Leia had studied hard, but among generals from ten different worlds she hardly had the gall to call herself a military strategist. She was also competent with tech, and a decent pilot, but not an expert at either.

But she was _great_ at being a princess.

Anyone in command who'd thought this mostly entailed looking pretty, going to parties, and performing largely meaningless ceremonial functions was quickly disabused of that notion. What princesses did - at least as princesses were raised and trained on Alderaan - was pay attention to the people.

Leia knew the most important customs, traditions, and observances of all the Core worlds and a good number of the others. She had a memory for faces and names and had been trained to remember that this person's parents had been refugees, this one had a spouse serving in the Guard, this one's child had a rare disease, this one needed accommodation for a hoverchair when visiting the palace.

It would rather amuse the Alliance generals if they ever found out that Leia had known Mon Mothma's favorite food since she was fourteen and tasked to help with menus for a ceremonial dinner. But they were impressed when it turned out she knew, without looking it up, what foods would accidentally kill a Togrutan.

That was how she ended up in charge of personnel problems (technically, Personnel and Resource Deployment) as the Alliance scattered and hid itself across the worlds. 

Because she knew what allergies would be inconvenient on Chandrila, but lethal to a human stationed on a rainforest world. She knew which species couldn't survive below freezing no matter how well equipped and sheltered. She thought of things like, where do you put a rehabilitation hospital for badly injured personnel who can't walk on a world impossible to navigate without walking and climbing (answer: you don't). Or, where is the best place for families that have small children living with them (answer: _not_ on the world with carnivorous plants capable of swallowing anything under fifty pounds). 

She talked personally to as many beings as she could, and delegated her small staff to reach the others. Who _couldn't_ be assigned to a certain type of world or climate. Who needed to follow a strict diet (she'd decided to keep as many of those people on the same base as possible). Whose wife was giving birth right now - literally, right now - in the base infirmary. 

(That last bit of news required both Leia and her assistant repeating, " _right_ now?" a few times before the point was satisfactorily established.)

(It was a girl.)

Lieutenant Parsons had a brother in the "badly injured personnel who can't walk" category and requested a compassionate allowance to be stationed with him. The Damerons were on their way back from a probably too-brief hiatus, with baby at least temporarily in tow (no one had told Leia what kind of baby it was, and the gap in her information nagged at her). Captain Antilles was a cousin of Wedge's and requested to be sent wherever he went because (Leia actually looked this one up to see if it was real) they had the same rare blood type and an unrelated donor would be difficult to find in the case of serious injury. On the other hand, Captain Blithe and Lieutenant Blithe were _not_ related, were in fact from warring clans, and their current commanding officers had specially requested that they be sent as far away from each other as possible. And so on, and so on, for rebel after rebel after rebel.

Of course, the vast majority of them just saluted and said, "Wherever I'm ordered." Some of them admitted to particular needs or awkward family situations or medical difficulties when pressed, but really, the average being was easy enough. This did not make the rest of them any less complicated.

She'd covered an entire table in the little office granted to her with multiple datapads, as well as physical pages she found it easier to amend with her notes. Spreadsheets, color-coded charts, maps, floor plans, lists of personnel by unit, lists of personnel currently admitted to medical . . . she was bent over the table trying to reconcile three seemingly incompatible spreadsheets and therefore didn't notice she had a visitor until he cleared his throat.

"I was walking by and, uh . . . saw the door open . . ." The stranger ran a hand through his hair, and after a moment's confused study Leia put it together. The man she'd danced with - and kissed - at the party, back before her birthday. The one whose very existence had sent her running to the _Falcon_ for security.

"Oh," she said, blinking, and simultaneously realizing that she'd lost her tenuous grip on the relationship between the three sets of data and would have to start over. "Sorry - sorry, I've just got a lot of . . ." She gestured. "Visual aids."

"I see that." The man, whose name she didn't even know, peered at her notes for just a moment. "Uh. Those aren't secret battle plans or something, are they? I'd hate for you to have to kill me."

"No. No, our battle plans are probably less complicated." She had no idea what to do with her hands. It was too late to pick up a datapad casually, and folding them in front of her, senate-style, was too formal for - whatever this was. She shoved them in her pockets. 

"I, uh - I hadn't gotten a chance to look for you," he said. "I got sent to the Anoat system on a reconnaissance run."

"Oh - I might have done that," she said. "Sorry." It wasn't really in question; she _had_ drawn up the orders. But without knowing his name she'd have had no idea that she was sending him specifically.

"It's okay. It was kind of interesting. Anyway, I'd wanted to . . . you took off pretty fast, you know, when we were at the party . . ."

Leia winced. "Yes," she said. "Sorry - that was . . . rude. I'd didn't mean to - I mean, I was -" What, though? Panicked? Irrational? Pining for a smuggler? "I was ill."

"Oh. I'm sorry to -" He took a tentative step forward. "I just wanted to make sure I didn't . . . do anything . . ."

"No," she said quickly. "No, of course you didn't. Sorry if I -"

"No, it's okay, I just -"

"I should have sent you a message or something," she said, fast-talking her way out of the awkwardness as well as she could. "I would have, it would have been the right - only -"

"We didn't exactly introduce ourselves," he said. "I mean. I knew who you were."

She'd wondered.

"So that's on me," he continued. 

"I don't know everybody," she rambled, too fast. "I try to."

"I'm Asher," he said, hand held out properly. "Asher Karenides."

She shook his hand, looking at the shoulder of his shirt. "Lieutenant Karenides."

"Yes."

"Corellian." Were they _all_?

"Yes," he confirmed.

She managed a half smile. "Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. Asher."

"Uh. Was it . . ." He cleared his throat softly before starting again. "Was it against protocol or - I mean, what we . . ."

"No?" she said, with less certainty than she'd intended. "No, I mean - I'm not strictly in the ranks, so . . . no, I - I don't think it was."

"Good," he said.

She was afraid he was going to suggest doing it again - not dancing, necessarily, but something else. For a minute he looked as if he might be going to. Then maybe he realized that she looked more awkward and nervous than interested.

"Well," he said. "I've got scheduled training over in ground support. We're supposed to be the advance for Site B."

Site B was the carnivorous-plant world. Nice otherwise. She nodded, trying her best to look calm and secure and in control. "Thank you," she said. "For coming to see me."

He nodded back, half-turned toward the door, then looked as if he might be going to say something else; but then a signal blared and the staticky voice of an annunciator sounded throughout the base. "Returning ships incoming. Request medical personnel to hangar and officers for debriefing. Returning ships incoming . . ."

Karenides looked at her with concern from the doorway. "Do you need to -"

They hadn't described the incoming ships as a squadron, which meant it wasn't a routine flight or reconnaissance mission returning. The words used meant a loose, unofficial collection of ships, not fighters, flying a cargo or supply mission. She only knew of one such mission, and it wasn't due back for another day.

"Yes," she said, feeling some of the blood leave her face, her head going light. "Yes, I should get to the hangar - excuse me."

He let her past but walked with her to the turn in the corridor - not inappropriately, as it would have been his route to ground support as well. "Is this the supply flight to Dantooine?" he asked as they walked. "I helped prep a couple of the freighters before they left. They were supposed to be coordinating with an independent anti-Imperial cell?"

"Yes," Leia said. She wouldn't have, but she was worried enough that she admitted, "We didn't expect they could make it back before tomorrow."

"And considering the medical personnel, their returning early can't be a good sign," Karenides guessed.

"I'm afraid it's not."

"Well - I hope it's all right." They'd come to the split in the corridor where she would go right and he would go left. He offered a smile. "Solo's missions haven't lost anybody yet."

She gave him a worried, absent nod and watched him leave before hurrying down her own turning toward the main hangar. 

By the time she arrived there were four ships standing at the far end of the hangar, personnel bustling around all of them. Four so far, out of a total nine that had been sent. Two of the four showed clear blast damage that she could see from this distance, and one of those had a side gun blown completely off. The medical personnel were already busy; there were hoverstretchers and litter from first aid kits and one or two personnel already sporting slightly bloody bandages.

As she crossed, ground crews were waving in a fifth ship which cruised in a stuttering path to its berth. None of the ships were the _Falcon_.

"Princess!" It was Wedge, hurrying toward her. "Do you know what happened? Karol went on this run, and his ship isn't back yet."

His cousin. Leia shook her head, feeling helpless. "I just got here myself. I haven't heard anything yet."

Wedge stood beside her for a moment while a sixth ship landed and cruised into the hangar. "You think they got ambushed by Imperials? Or the group on Dantooine turned on them?"

"Neither should have been possible. The mission was fully vetted." She stood looking fretfully at the returning ships as more personnel streamed off them, some bleeding.

"Leia!"

This time, she saw with relief, it was General Rieekan coming toward her. Now maybe she'd get some information. "General," she said as he approached. "What happened?"

"The first ships to take off reported that the ships behind them were taking fire," he began.

"Planetside?" Leia asked.

Rieekan nodded. "Someone started firing on the remaining ships after the first few had taken off. We had only spotty communications from the ships on the ground, but the ones already in the air reported they were being hassled."

"Hassled?" Wedge asked.

Rieekan glanced at him before answering. "Yes. Not aggressively, but - the pilots reported it was as if they were being chased from the sector."

Leia frowned. "Why, if they were already leaving?"

"We don't know."

"How long ago did those reports come in?" she asked, suddenly realizing there had been a gap in her information.

Rieekan looked mildly abashed. "About oh-eight-hundred. We were following communications, but we didn't think there was necessarily anything to worry about."

Leia felt her frown deepen as a seventh ship pulled into the hangar. Not the _Falcon_. "Capture?" she asked. "Ransom? Bounty?"

"What do you mean?" Rieekan asked, although something in his tone suggested that he might already have been thinking along similar lines.

"The cell on Dantooine - if they wanted prisoners, for leverage with us or to trade to the Empire or whatever - but they couldn't overpower the whole group . . ." She bit her lip for a moment, watching medical personnel assist a pilot with a small but freely bleeding head wound across the hangar. "They wait for some ships to take off, then make sure they leave so they can't help the ones left behind . . ."

"Well, it didn't work, at least," Wedge said. "All the ships are coming back. Aren't they?"

"This is more than the first ships that reported taking off," Rieekan acknowledged.

A young - very young - man had been talking with an officer near the boarding ramp of the seventh ship, and Leia saw him salute and hurry in her direction. "General Rieekan," he said, saluting.

"Lieutenant - ah - Bixley," Rieekan said, clearly reading off the uniform. He didn't seem to know the boy.

Bixley glanced at Leia and gave a sort of half-bow head bob, apparently not sure how to handle her rank. "Sir," he said. "I was sent to report - I mean I'm not the officer in charge, but - uh - everybody else is injured. Sir. Sirs. Ma'am."

Leia almost, almost smiled.

"Go on," Rieekan told him.

"We got all the stuff loaded and the first two ships took off while Solo and the recon team were still talking to the Dantooin. . . ians. Then all of a sudden somebody started firing on the rest of us - aiming at the ships, like, not really at us that were still outside. Solo started yelling for everybody to board and then I guess he told us to take off one at a time - our ship stayed grounded and shooting back until a few had gone before us."

"How many still on the ground when you left?" Rieekan asked. Leia nodded her agreement with the question - if the seventh ship to return _hadn't_ been the seventh ship to leave, that meant a ship that had left Dantooine and not made it back.

"Two," Bixley said, and Leia breathed a sigh of relief that at least there was no clear evidence they'd lost a ship in the firefight outside atmosphere. Yet.

"Any idea who was shooting at you, or what they wanted?" she asked.

"No ma'am. They were behind cover as far as I saw, didn't see if they were stormtroopers or what. Nobody else made 'em out either, or they'd have told me to report it."

"And were you pursued after you left Dantooine?" Rieekan asked.

"Yes sir. They fired on us, but they mostly seemed like warning shots. _Those_ were Imperial fighters, but . . ."

"But?" Rieekan asked.

Bixley frowned. "Old ones? They didn't look - right. Not exactly like the usual ones."

Leia stared at the hangar floor, thinking. "So Imperials, or -"

"Or pretty much anybody, who got their hands on decommissioned Imperial fighters," Rieekan finished.

"Right."

"Last one!" came a shout from across the hangar, and Leia looked up in alarm. This couldn't be the last ship, this was only eight. She started toward the doors just as a freighter - _not the_ Falcon - limped its way in, but before she could panic she heard the alert repeated, with a clarification: "Last one coming in for landing!"

Tentative relief crept in. If there was a ninth ship landing it _had_ to be the _Falcon_ , not that the mere return of the ship meant anything about the condition of its pilot or crew . . .

She thought back to what Bixley had reported - _Solo and the recon team were still talking to the Dantooinians . . . Solo started yelling for everybody to board . . ._ Despite his noncommissioned status he'd been leading this mission - of course he'd been the last one on the ground.

She was walking toward the limping eighth ship without really paying attention; Wedge at her side. "He's always going on about being in it to save his own skin," she muttered. "Couldn't he _mean_ it for once?" She glanced at Wedge. "I didn't say that."

"No," he agreed solemnly.

A dark-haired man in a captain's uniform, apparently unharmed, disembarked from the newly arrived ship and immediately spotted Wedge, waving.

"Your cousin?" Leia asked.

"Yeah, he looks all right." Wedge gave her a little pat on the shoulder as he made to head toward his cousin. "Look, incoming."

Automatically she searched the sky outside the hangar doors, and there was the _Falcon_ dropping into her sightline. She squinted. The blackened blast damage near the outside of the cockpit was old. She was pretty sure. The ship looked intact otherwise - as intact as it usually did - and wasn't listing like the last one to return. She held her breath a little as it coasted into the hangar and set down.

"That Han?"

Leia barely turned to acknowledge Luke at her elbow. He sounded out of breath. "It's the _Falcon_ ," she equivocated, still nervous. 

"I didn't realize it was his mission," Luke said, giving a little cough. He must have run from the other end of the base. "What happened?"

"I hope Han knows," Leia murmured. He had the best chance probably, if he'd still been on the ground in direct contact with the Dantooinian cell when the shooting started. "They were fired on planetside and chased by old Imperial fighters."

"That makes no sense."

"I know."

The _Falcon_ 's ramp began lowering, and although she and Luke weren't terribly close they both still waited where they were. As soon as the ramp was low enough a pair of boots appeared and started walking down, and Leia only had to see the stripes on the sides of the trousers for the knot in her stomach to unclench.

Until the ramp lowered all the way and Han stepped down into view - Chewie hovering close behind him - and she saw the blood on his shirt. Judging by the way he was walking, this time it was his. Leia would have been a little embarrassed about the way she started to run, if Luke hadn't been right with her.

"Han!" Luke shouted as they ran.

Han looked up, lifting only his head as his body stayed slightly bent down and to the right, but didn't respond other than to grimace in greeting. Chewbacca on the other hand roared something urgent. Leia still couldn't quite understand him - she certainly couldn't translate his sounds into actual words the way Han did, and she suspected some of that was really Han just turning Shyriiwook sounds into vaguely equivalent Basic concepts, based on long acquaintance with the Wookiee - but she was starting to get a general sense of mood, at least. More so than the early days when Chewie just seemed angry all the time, as most Wookiee speech sounded to most other beings. And Chewie was definitely upset, now.

Leia was not normally faster than Luke, but maybe he was letting her get ahead. Either way she beat him to Han's injured side, Chewie already supporting him on the other, and automatically slipped herself under Han's arm with her arm around his waist.

"Gonna bleed on you," he muttered through a tight smile.

"Was the ship hit?" Luke asked. Not finding a place to help, he danced impatiently in front of Han.

"No, I got hit on the ground, before I boarded. Everybody else that came on the _Falcon_ is fine."

"So obviously you let someone else fly back," Leia said, trying to take as much of his weight as possible.

"Cute," Han said.

She didn't really want to ask questions about the mission right now - worry was making her feel sick, and at the same time the side of her face was against his shirt and she just wanted to breathe him in and remind herself that he was here, walking at least - but the rebel leader inside her was persistent and annoying. "Was it the Dantooine cell?" she asked as they slowly started across the hangar.

"I don't know if it was all of them," Han groaned. "But a couple anyway." He planted his feet and forced the whole procession to a stop. "Look, no offense, but this is like being strung between a tree and a twig. You're gonna pull my arm out of the socket, pal."

Chewie grumbled a complaint but relinquished his place to Luke, who had been trailing behind them and who, like Leia, actually fit under Han's arm.

"Better," Han said, his weight evening.

"The Dantooine cell?" Leia repeated, though she kind of hated herself for it.

Han nodded. "One of 'em gave the signal. I think. After our first two ships took off."

"Did you see who the shooters were?" she asked.

"I barely saw _where_ they were. The shots seemed to be coming from everywhere. But they were all under cover behind one building or another." He shook his head, wincing. "They were prepared, whether it was the whole cell or a rogue element. They had the ambush all set up."

His tone was bitter, though Leia couldn't tell if the bitterness was directed at the Dantooine cell, himself for not figuring it out beforehand, the Alliance for sending them . . . For a moment she moved the arm around his waist, spreading her palm against his back. "I haven't heard there were any casualties," she said softly. "Everybody made it back."

"In how many pieces?" he asked, but he lifted his hand, too, and briefly ran it over her head. She pressed her face closer to his shoulder in response before she could stop herself.

"Is it bad?" she asked.

"Well, the winning hit was right around my lung," Han groaned out.

"What?" Leia and Luke said together.

Han waved the hand that had been resting on Leia's shoulder. ". . . so it can't be that deep or I'd be dead. Looks worse than it is."

"That's reassuring," Luke grumbled.

"Had to be the hero, didn't you," Leia said. She meant to sound annoyed but it came out more fond, and that made her actually feel annoyed. 

Han gave a pained laugh. "Yeah, that's me, sweetheart. Martyr for the cause."

Of course he had no intention of martyring himself for the rebellion, but he would put himself in danger to protect anyone who'd been entrusted to him, and that was - frustrating, Leia told herself. Frustrating. Not terrifying and also terribly attractive.

"I'm glad you're back," she said without thinking, and was instantly mortified. He'd never let that go. Unless by some chance he was too distracted by pain to have heard her . . .

"I'll remind you of that later," he said, and she sighed into his shirtsleeve. Of course.


	14. leaping into danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very. Big. Trouble.

**Part 14: 1 ABY**

The first time Han woke up, there was a deep burning feeling in his side and he was dizzy and momentarily confused. There was a pinch when he tried to move his right arm. Something was beeping.

After a few moments of blinking, the ceiling of the medbay came into focus and he felt steady enough to roll his head to one side and look around. Leia was curled up in a chair, looking as if she were trying to be as small as possible; asleep with her forehead awkwardly resting on one forearm. Her hair was mussed. He wondered how long she'd been sitting there.

_Oh, right. Dantooine. Bastards._

He was still feeling the pull of sleep in a way that suggested drugs, but - she was so twisted up and uncomfortable-looking. He whispered, "Princess," but his voice was too hoarse to make much of a sound. Had he been screaming? He didn't think so. Strong drugs, then. Must have been worse than he'd thought.

He tried to lift his hand in her direction - maybe he could reach her, if he stretched enough, and that seemed like an all right idea in his current state of drowsiness - but he felt that pinch again and his hand was restrained. He squinted down. IV line. So bacta hadn't been enough, he thought as he slipped back into sleep.

The second time he woke, his side felt much better but he had a headache. Wincing, he turned to the side again, not quite sure if he really remembered seeing Leia there earlier.

Luke was there instead, also asleep, head thrown back in the chair. Of course he was. Where Leia was he'd be, Han thought, somewhat bitterly if not entirely coherently. Taking turns if not by her side. Next to her at dinner. Near her at briefings. Walking side by side to the _Falcon_. A memory flashed in his mind of them framing him, _identical looks of worry on their faces, walking him to the medbay. Insisting he needed to see the doctor, their voices blending the same way their hands clasped behind his back. Chewie could have patched him up just fine if the safety twins hadn't interfered._

He didn't really know why he felt so angry. They weren't - Luke seemed to be working his way through the female personnel as well as he could manage, and Leia didn't look at him that way - didn't seem to have eyes for anyone actually -

 _Leia's cheek pressed into his arm, rubbing into him like a cat; she'd been worried, even though she kept asking about how the mission had gone wrong . . . he'd known, really_ known _and understood for a minute that this was just what she did, she didn't know how else to be . . . He'd touched her hair, tried to hold her; then and later when they'd lowered him into a bed, now he remembered, a medic had been pulling at his clothes and there was a sharp prick in his arm, Leia (and Luke behind her) backing out of the way but he'd tried to reach her with his free hand anyway. Tried to ask her not to leave -_ please, sweetheart, stay . . . _\- even though he wasn't scared or even in all that much pain, he just wanted her there - but they'd given him something and he couldn't get words out._

For a moment, just a moment, he closed his eyes on the image of her face and let longing fill him up and hollow him out. Then he'd remember that he had no right to her, no reason to be bitter about Luke or anybody else even.

He needed to get out of here. Should have gotten out long before a vague fondness for a wounded, angry girl had merged with that little burn of forbidden attraction and turned into this - _want_. Before she'd become his friend, too, before he found out that it was nice when she was (occasionally) sweet to him, before he worried about her and knew she worried about him . . . before he started to feel empty in a way that would only go away if she wanted him.

And, he thought, glaring at Luke as if the whole thing were his fault, before he'd come to like Luke so much that he didn't want to leave him either. Before they'd trapped him in their rebellion. Before he liked both of them so much that he couldn't even blame them if they _did_ want each other.

His thoughts were still jumbled and confused, circling around that empty ache where Leia wasn't. This would have to be faced - or he'd have to leave finally.

He fell asleep again.

She came in while he was buttoning his shirt. The needles and patches and other paraphernalia had been removed, the doctor had given him leave to go, and Luke had apparently dropped off a pile of clean clothes while he was sleeping. He had three buttons done with wobbly fingers when Leia appeared in the doorway.

He looked up and neither of them said anything right away. For some reason he'd expected her to be angry - or was _he_ angry? - but she only looked sort of sober and hesitant. After being tormented during the night (if it _was_ night - while he was in and out of sleep, anyway) by the sudden clarity of his feelings about her, it was almost a shock to see her in person and remember how ordinary she was. She was pretty - lovely - even looking as tired as she did, but she wasn't some larger-than-life goddess with the power to destroy men's lives and seduce them into ruin. She was a small, pretty twenty-one-year-old girl with sloppily braided hair and dark smudges under her eyes. Looking nervous like this, there was no princess or commander about her. Just Leia.

Her eyes met his and something softened in her face, her whole expression. Then she looked away at the floor and rubbed her hand over her mouth.

"Well," he said, going back to the task of buttoning his shirt. "What's the bad news?"

She looked at him again and folded her arms. "I don't know if it's bad exactly . . ."

He did know her too well. No way that face had been all about his injuries. "So?"

Her attention was riveted on his chest in a way she would rarely have allowed. He casually glanced down to see how much skin was still showing - not much. Meanwhile she seemed lost for words. "Your Highness?"

He expected the name to snap her out of it and draw her ire, but it only accomplished the first. She shook her head a little and said, "You went wrong there."

On the mission? "Huh?"

Shaking her head again she came closer and sat next to him on the bed. Her movements were perfectly casual, but she betrayed some self-consciousness by looking down as she started at the top of his shirt and efficiently unbuttoned it again.

"This is all so sudden," he said, grinning because he didn't know what else to do. She should have smacked him and left, but she only rolled her eyes a little and turned pink. Firm hands pulled his collar straight and he realized he had indeed missed one buttonhole and done the rest of his shirt off-kilter.

He let her do the rest for him, though judging by the tiny bit of her face and neck he could see, her color was deepening as she got down to his lap. Smiling at the top of her bowed head, he nudged her hands aside and said, "I can take over from here. What's the news?"

She sat back a bit, though still perched on the bed. "The Dantooine cell . . ."

"We find out why they turned on us?"

"They're dead."

That was unexpected - although, once he thought about it, not necessarily surprising. He dropped his hands to his thighs. "All of them?"

"Maybe not every single one, but . . ."

"We know who got them?"

Leia shook her head.

"Huh." He stared at the medbay floor for a while. "Empire didn't feel like playing nice once the double-cross was over? Empire got pissed because they didn't capture any of us after all?"

"Either. Both." She shrugged. "It bothers me that - we don't know that they were all in on it. That they all meant to betray us. You."

"Well, that's 'cause you're not a monster who likes killing people for no reason." 

She did look so somber, so tired, that he reached over and patted her hand. She looked up at him then, like - _that_. Something small and hopeful in her expression. Looking up through her eyelashes. He needed -

He needed to go. He either needed to decide to throw out the rulebook, and have her if she'd have him, or he needed to _go_. Soon.

 

He should have gone. But turning his back on Luke and the others he'd come to like, Wedge and the band of other exiled Corellians who made him almost feel like he had a place in his home culture again, Rieekan who looked at him with an almost disturbing amount of trust . . . and, yeah. Even though he told himself that getting away from Leia was necessary, he could never seem to get to the point of making it final. He didn't want to leave, it was that simple. And there was that part of him that stayed hopeful, even though he didn't know what he actually hoped _for_.

They went to Abrax I, a small world that had been colonized by humans during the Old Republic and deserted since the first days of the Empire, when a civil war left half its inhabitants joining the Imperials and moving formally to Imperial worlds, and the other half dead or fleeing for sanctuary on any world that could hide them. Its history gave it a dark reputation, which meant it was left alone. Which meant there was an excellent chance that a rebel outpost there would go unnoticed.

It was nominally a factfinding mission, focused specifically on whether Abrax I was as devoid of intelligent life as everyone believed. If conditions seemed favorable, though, they would stay and establish a base camp. By now this was a finely honed process for the Alliance. It marked the third time Han and Chewie had participated in such an effort, and the second for Luke and a lot of his squadron. It was the first time, though, that Leia had ever gone on the initial exploratory phase of a new base setup. She seemed ready to be intrepid - her spirits were high, and she never complained about living rough, not even when it was on the _Falcon_ (she often complained _about_ the _Falcon_ , but that had nothing to do with the passenger accommodations).

"Intrepid" had never seemed like a particularly cute word before, but when it was Leia in slightly oversized Rebel camouflage practicing with a vibroblade . . . yeah.

Unless any intelligent life-forms were hiding _very_ well, Abrax I did indeed seem to be deserted. The critters they did encounter didn't, at least, seem to speak any language Threepio had ever run into, and they didn't seem interested in making any attempt to communicate. They didn't seem dangerous, either, being mostly timid little rodent types who scattered when people came near. The water yielded some tiny aquatic species but - so far - nothing that seemed big enough to want to mess with a rebel. So far, so good.

Life here soon took up a familiar pattern - much the same as back on the big Alliance bases, only there were fewer of them and a lot more of their living happened outside. For Han, trying to keep up steady maintenance work on his ship while also helping to keep people organized. Only this time, Leia was there to take the brunt of the administrating and delegating, leaving Han free to actually join patrols and do some of the exploring.

(He tried to think of it that way, as getting to do more of the fun part; rather than dwelling on the fact that, with Her Highness around, he was getting delegated _to_ a lot more than he was delegating.)

These people had mostly spent long, slow times on quiet new outposts together before. It didn't take long for the same kind of companionship to develop - not really that different from what happened in mess halls and quarters and after hours in corners of the hangars back on the big bases, but here the rhythm was slower and schedules were more in synch. There were outdoor cookfires again, this time on the grassy slope leading down to a clear little pond - one of the few places where the trees were sparse enough to allow for a lot of ships to land together. The pilots patrolled space in consistent teams and the watches were organized so that the same people had downtime together all the time.

Han carefully did not arrange these teams himself, not wanting the temptation either to make sure he would have quiet time with Leia, or to try to avoid her in hopes of making things easier on himself. He didn't really trust himself either way. Also, he didn't want the blame for whatever way it went, or for her to read into anything.

Instead he made Luke and Wedge do it. The kid was pretty much guaranteed to arrange things so that all of them would be off together, and time with Leia but in Luke's constant presence seemed like a pretty good compromise. Things could only go so wrong when they had a chaperone.

He thought.

Problem was, Leia was . . . happy. Not that he didn't want her to be happy; he did. It was great. She was relaxed, though as vigilant about her duty as always; she laughed more often; she even spent more time apparently just socializing with other beings she hadn't known before. The problem was, while this should have been helpful - because a cheerful Leia didn't trigger the protective instinct he apparently had - a relaxed, laughing Leia was really terribly, horribly attractive. Very. 

And she kept smiling at him. Smiling, and hardly picking fights at all; and he already knew he was in big trouble, but if all this smiling meant that her happiness had anything to do with him . . . then he was in even bigger trouble than he ever knew. 

Because he was leaving. Someday, but - inevitably. Had to. She couldn't . . .

His instinct was to pick fights with her, since she wouldn't, but somehow he couldn't do it, not when she was so - friendly. So _easy_.

(No, not like that, for which he was actually grateful, because he now fully accepted that sleeping with her and then having to leave wouldn't just be hurtful to _her_.)

He was sort of okay though, he was doing all right; until the evening he finished early with what he'd planned to do that day, and wandered out to help with dinner while some of the others were taking advantage of the warm weather to have a fully submerged bath in the pond. Mostly-clothed, of course - they may have been a group of rebels, but they weren't all _that_ rebellious.

His eye first landed on Luke and one of the new pilots - another Kirin? Kiran? something like that - splashing at each other like some kind of scene out of an erotic holo. One of the ones about forbidden love between brothers in arms. (Of course that kind of thing wasn't actually forbidden on a lot of worlds, but - the Empire controlled the holo industry. Even the porn.)

Han was still mid-snort when he noticed Leia, off by herself. Even though he was looking at absolutely nothing he hadn't seen a million times before - he still almost choked. He knew she must be fully dressed, or what would qualify as fully dressed for most women (her arms were bare, which for Leia was practically public nudity); but she was waist-deep in the water, facing away from shore, and her long hair freed from its braids completely hid the shirt she must be wearing. From this angle she might actually have been naked, and even though, again, he wasn't _seeing_ anything, his mind did not know that. And his mind really had not needed that image. It was now inescapably running along the track of a whole different kind of erotic holo.

So much so that when Leia started to turn around, he panicked, dropped his eyes to the grass, _and_ turned and marched back up the slope to Chewie's station by the cookfire. He asked some hopefully coherent question about dinner, but his mind was pretty much repeating _don't look don't look don't look_ like one of Luke's Jedi meditation whatevers. For a few minutes he even managed to obey himself, mostly by staring at the meat on the fire as if it were about to get up and run off.

Then he looked. Obviously.

Leia was sitting on the grass next to Luke ( _always_ ), knees pulled up to her chest. She was completely fully dressed of course; to the extent your definition of "completely fully dressed" included soaking wet camouflage pants and an even more soaking wet sleeveless undershirt. At least it wasn't white - black, when soaking wet, was bad enough. He could already tell this even though her arms were folded on top of her knees, blocking any view of her front at all.

Part of him kind of prayed she was wearing something under the shirt. Part prayed the exact opposite. It was pretty much fifty-fifty. Or forty-sixty.

She was combing her hair out - even wet there was so much of it - and Luke looked for all the world like he was about to offer to do it for her. Han took a swallow from an ale that had somehow found its way into his hand (Chewie?) and thought this outpost could single-handedly produce every genre of erotica the galaxy could want.

Their weirdly identical looks of solemn contentment would be creepy for some viewers. Others would just like it more that way.

Leia had a broad smile for Wedge as he passed; even though half her face was tucked into her arms, it was visible in her eyes. All smiles for everybody, these days.

Han wondered, for really the first time, what any of _them_ would do if they thought Leia might be interested. Would anybody in their right mind turn her down? Sure, the Alderaanians might hesitate, but if presented with a princess who was willing and inviting . . . For that matter, Antilles knew her well and never seemed interested, but maybe he just thought it was an impossibility not worth thinking about. If she went to him . . .

After all, those guys were all fully signed up. Committed. No problems, no heartbreak (unless they went out and didn't come back; but it would only be because the Empire'd gotten them). 

With absolutely no idea why he was having these thoughts, Han took another swallow of ale. And watched Leia lean back and stretch out on the grass.

The answer was no, by the way. On the undergarment question.

And, was she _drunk_?

She had to be. This kind of display might have been perfectly normal and casual for half the women he knew, especially when sitting with a best friend who had all the moves of a bantha. But for her he'd expect this to be about equivalent with putting up a red light over her quarters.

Even Luke was a little pink as he carefully looked away.

Han was definitely not walking over to sit with them. Definitely not sinking onto the grass next to Leia. Definitely not letting himself look while her head was turned Luke's way.

Except he definitely was, because she caught him looking a second later. And by the way judging from the way her eyes narrowed, she was not drunk.

He expected her to cover up, with her crossed arms if nothing else, but instead her face grew set and her arms stayed at her sides. So she was doubling down. Refusing to care what he did. Fair enough. She was in the right anyway; she was among friends here and there he was, acting like a creep.

He ought to have played it off casual, as if it were all no big deal, except that he had to squint his eyes and stare at Luke for a second in order to make himself stop looking at her.

Luke was oblivious. Probably because he was still fixedly staring in the opposite direction. "I'm going to get dinner," he announced. "You guys ready?"

"In a minute," Leia said. She folded her arms under her head so that she was looking down at the pond. "I want to get a bit drier."

"Han?"

Han waved at him, and the kid wandered off. With a half-laugh, Han followed Leia's gaze to Kirin/Kiran/whatever and two other pilots, now shirtless despite the evening chill settling in, all trying to dunk each other. "Tempted?" he asked her, grinning out at the pond.

"Always."

He blinked. Not only because for her to admit anything of the kind was - a thing that did not happen. But she seriously didn't mean . . . "What, by them?"

He was reassured by the moment it took her eyes to focus on the men and catch his meaning. "No," she said, unbelievably laughing a little herself. "This, I mean. Sitting here. Life. Normal things."

"Ah." _TROUBLE_ , his mind flashed in big red letters. "Guess neither of us knows that much about normal."

"Guess not." She did fold her arms now, but under her breasts and not over them. She was probably just cold. Her eyes were fixed on the sky.

He didn't mean to look. He covered by coughing and saying, "You know. Kinda doubt palace life was really normal."

(By the way, yes. Judging by the visual evidence. Yes, she was cold.)

"Probably not," she said quietly. Then, abruptly, she sat up and folded herself over her knees again, her back to him. He thought maybe he'd made her mad (which he should have been happy about. right?), but then her ribs expanded as she took a deep, shuddering breath and . . . yeah, she was trying not to cry. 

Alderaan? He kind of thought it had to be something else, actually. Mere mention of her life on Alderaan didn't tend to do this.

He was at a loss. Everyone else had drifted away, they were alone except for the rumble of chat around the cookfires behind them. 

She was cold. The thought lodged in his mind as something he could fix. He took off his jacket, shrugged out of his long-sleeved shirt, then pulled the jacket back on. He approached her slumped back as if he were afraid of startling her.

"Come on," he said gently. "You're freezing."

There was maybe a tiny sniffle and she started to say "that's -", but apparently his strategy of calmly grabbing the hem of her wet shirt wasn't going to fly, because she immediately slapped his hands away. "What are you _doing_?"

Yeah, he couldn't believe he'd tried that either, but there was really nothing left to do but tough it out. She'd unbuttoned his shirt, after all. "You can't stay in a wet shirt, you're freezing," he said. "No one can see - including me - now come on."

"Are you insane? No one will notice me going around without a shirt on?" she hissed, at which point he realized his oversight.

"Sorry - here," he said, tossing his shirt onto her lap. "I meant, take yours off and put this on."

"Oh," she said, sounding surprised enough that he decided to push his advantage.

He grabbed her shirt again. "No one's looking, now arms up real quick."

He kind of couldn't believe she let him do it.

He had about two seconds to stare at her bare back - which he'd seen the first day he knew her, but never since - to find the old scars from the wounds he'd doctored himself; before she got his shirt pulled securely around her. "Thanks," she said quietly.

_Don't do it. Don't do it. TROUBLE. BIG TROUBLE. VERY BIG -_

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Better?" he asked.

"Yes," she said stiffly.

At least she wasn't smiling at him?

_VERY BIG TROUBLE._


	15. creeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia's distracted by a new world and new training and . . . Han; but something isn't right.

**Part 15: 1 ABY**

Leia had never spent quite so much time living in a tent.

There was - had been - camping on Alderaan, miles and miles of protected green space and virgin forest where people went to hike and swim in the lakes and enjoy the warm seasons. She had fond memories of her father and one or two uncles and aunts and cousins (and an assortment of bodyguards and security personnel) getting out into the woods or to the lakeshore, campfires, long walks through the trees or big open wildflower meadows. But never for more than a weekend.

Of course, a military tent was a bit different from the quaint little structures where even Leia as a child couldn't stand up straight, where they slept on the ground and piled their knapsacks in the corner. Leia's tent on Abrax I was not much smaller than her quarters on the last base, or the _Falcon_ 's crew cabin. Han would have to duck if he entered - which he hadn't - except in the center where the ceiling was highest, but Leia could walk around upright. She had a small cot, and a footlocker for her gear. 

The tents provided only the semblance of privacy, really, because except for the one on the end of the row they technically only had three sides - front, back, and right side, plus the roof - and each tent zipped to the one on its left to make up the fourth side. There was someone else sleeping less than four or five feet away from Leia on either side, separated only by one layer of canvas that became half-transparent when a light was on. Leia was getting very good at dressing in the dark.

It wasn't as hard as usual to sleep, though. Instead of sterile white walls and silence, there were normal night sounds, birds and insects and things, and other people shuffling around and shifting in their cots and sometimes talking quietly outside. Nothing loud enough to keep her awake, but it was good to know the rest of the world was still out there, around her. Well, for the most part.

She had a new early morning routine, as well. She'd been up at dawn one day, unable to sleep anymore, and had pulled on the nearest pants and sweater before stepping out of her tent into the dimness. After a perfunctory wash at one of the communal stations she'd set off for a walk along the shore of the little pond.

Even keeping the camp in view all the time, sighting by the tops of the tallest ships, and sticking close by the water, she was able to ramble until the sun had come up. There was a clearing where she sat down for a while, listening to the bird sounds and staring up at the trees and down at the tiny blades of a spiky little yellowish grass. The air here was different - there was a sort of sharp feel and an ozone smell - and the colors leaned toward washed out, more like Alderaan in autumn than the height of spring, which it was here - but it still helped. She was able to find quiet and grounding, here on the soil and grass and leaves of one world, and remember that it wasn't all about space battles and ships and stations and politics and fleet movements. The rebellion, her parents' rebellion, was supposed to be about beings and worlds being left alone and allowed to just be.

On her way back to camp she'd come across some other women milling about as if something had just ended. They were dressed in an assortment of the lightest-weight ground forces gear and exercise clothing, some carrying folded mats under one arm. Now that it was daylight, Leia was suddenly conscious of her cold hands jammed into the pocket of an old sweater and her hair in a long sloppy braid down her back. 

(And the least said about the shirt she was wearing under the sweater, the better.)

(It was Han's. She hadn't figured out a way to give it back to him that didn't seem awkward, so she kept thinking she'd find a way to just put it back in his laundry.)

"Your Highness," said a woman Leia didn't know. She wasn't always addressed that way by non-Alderaanians, and this woman's accent gave her away as a native Chandrilan. The friend who'd paused behind her, though, had her hair twisted up in Alderaanian braids.

Leia gave them both a nod and a "good morning" that she hoped wasn't too mumbled. The change from her hour of solitude was a bit startling.

"Makhasar is teaching us," the Chandrilan woman said in explanation, gesturing at the mat under her arm. "It's a technique from his world -"

"Not combat training," the Alderaanian woman put in, and promptly blushed. Leia wondered if she was worried that her princess would judge the study of physical fighting, considering Alderaan's philosophy of pacifism. Though how anyone could expect Leia, who carried a blaster, to judge on that account, she didn't know.

"No, it's a style of training that's supposed to help with fighting techniques," the first woman finished. "Do you know it?"

Leia shook her head. She'd actually never heard of such a thing, although Captain Makhasar was from an Outer Rim world that she wasn't very familiar with.

"Lots of people have learned it a little," the woman continued, "but he's been teaching this small group of us a version that's adapted for women - for their different center of gravity, you know, and to build up upper body strength."

"Oh," Leia said, because in the moment she couldn't think of anything else. Not that this didn't seem like an interesting and wonderful idea.

"He started teaching us on Pathfinder Base," the Alderaanian woman explained, "and he's kept it up for those of us who came here."

Before Leia could say "oh" again, the Chandrilan said, "You should join us next time! If you wanted."

Instinctively Leia looked to the Alderaanian for her reaction. She looked sort of . . . mortified. 

"I wouldn't want to impose," Leia said quickly.

"Why would you be imposing?"

The Chandrilan woman was so offhand and cheerful, hefting her mat under her arm, that Leia's explanation about people from command - or, you know, royalty - crashing in on the troops sounded stupid and awkward before she even said it. While she was having this conversation with herself and brilliantly saying nothing, the Alderaanian had recovered her composure and put in, "yes, Your Highness. It's been great training, we'd love to have you join us."

"Well," Leia said. "If you think no one would mind?"

It turned out to be hard. Leia's lifelong training in ceremony and dancing and self-defense meant that she was never really the worst at anything she tried, but she certainly wasn't the best at this, either. There were long early mornings of hopping back and forth across her mat trying to get her balance on one leg with the other folded in some improbable position; nights when her upper arms and shoulders were so sore that she could barely take her own shirt off; and multiple incidents of pitching forward or sideways or just plain faceplanting on the mat. 

She stayed in the back.

Captain Makhasar was a good teacher, though, and as ridiculous as she sometimes felt she knew she was getting stronger. And that helped with . . . with the creeping dread she didn't confess to anyone, the sense that something was wrong and getting wronger by the day, that even though everything was peaceful and the patrols saw nothing out of the ordinary and communications from the rest of the Alliance indicated nothing particularly alarming . . . still. Still she had a slowly growing knot in her stomach, a cloud over her. The only thing that really helped was knowing that she was getting ready for - whatever.

It helped at night, too. When she was worn out, her muscles feeling loose and limp, it was somewhat easier to fall asleep. That meant less time brooding in her cot over the nameless _something_ hanging in the air, but also less time trying not to listen to the couple-sounds that sometimes came from the other tents. Everyone was trying to be quiet and discreet, but there'd be whispers, or a flap unzipping in the dark, or the rustling sounds of two people trying to settle into one cot. Rarely it got a bit worse than that; stifled gasps and cots creaking. Leia would bite her lip and feel awkward, staring at the roof of her tent and trying not to wonder who it was.

At such times - well, pretty much at any time - it turned out that telling herself not to think about Han was a surefire way to end up thinking about Han.

She just wanted, well. Yes. She wanted for him to come to her tent. That was easy enough to admit.

(It wasn't. Even just letting the thought come to the forefront and roll around in her mind, she found herself staring wide-eyed and panicked into the darkness, her body alert for danger, worried that someone had somehow _heard her_.)

But it was still true. She wished he would slip in at night, maybe sit on her cot with her, maybe stay. She could picture, vividly, his body wrapped warm around hers, his arms tightening when the wind blew, his quiet laugh in her ear when someone outside - having drunk a bit too much - stumbled and swore their way into their own tent.

She mostly thought about comfort, being close, feeling special - which made her feel like a stupid little girl sometimes. But she wasn't that stupid - or at any rate not that naive. If he wanted to have sex with her (she admitted to the quiet of her mind as she lay in the dark) she might let him. Not out of lust; though she'd admit to some curiosity, and a sharp spike of something that cut through the knot in her stomach occasionally when he looked at her. But mostly just . . . because she thought it would be all right, she didn't think she'd mind, and it would make him stay close to her.

Of course - _of course_ \- she'd never give in if she minded. The thought of sleeping with Han, though - well it wasn't that it seemed like a _good_ idea. It just seemed like there could be worse things. And then she wouldn't have to sleep alone, while so many around her seemed to be quietly bedding down together under cover of night and thin canvas.

In the meantime . . . well, in the meantime she'd get stronger. Better.

Because that feeling of dread was still growing, and she was beginning to think it wasn't just her. Luke, at least, seemed to share her sense that something was wrong. He was looking tired and shadow-eyed, being short with Han and the others when they were joking around, spending long hours just sitting alone and staring up at the sky. Maybe it wasn't affecting anyone else, but to Leia it felt like the other shoe had to drop any moment.

Then there was a day when she couldn't breathe for the tension in her gut - Luke was gone, out flying a patrol, and everyone else was behaving completely normally, but Leia just _knew_ something terrible was near. They were all in danger. She put so much effort into staying calm that she almost threw up. Han asked her if something was wrong and all she could say was, "I can't - I can't -"

And then - and then it was over, so suddenly that she collapsed onto her knees in the grass as if a giant hand had held her in its grip and then let go. The absence of fear made her dizzy. Dimly she noticed an X-Wing landing, just one, which was wrong, but her curiosity was numbed. 

"Leia," Han started to say, because of course he was right there, right by her; but then the X-Wing's hatch opened and Luke climbed out, staggering, and retching onto the ground, and Han ran to him.

People must have been asking him what was wrong, if he was hurt, because she could see gesturing, a crowd gathering, mouths moving, but her ears were roaring with a relief that made no sense. _What happened?_ she asked herself, meaning Luke, herself, everything.

The rest of Luke's patrol was landing now but they weren't worried or rushed; they were jubilant, whooping and cheering as they climbed from their X-Wings. "What," Leia managed to say, her mouth dry. No one was close enough to hear her. She cleared her throat and tried again, feeling stronger. "What happened?"

Wedge answered her. "They passed us by!"

The feeling that seized her was mortal relief shot through with terror, and she couldn't even ask . . .

"Who, Imperials?" Han asked.

"Not just Imperials - we recognized his ship! They must have been coming toward us for weeks, and when we saw them we thought . . . but I guess we're just on the way to something else, 'cause they went right on without even noticing we were here. Guess the new cloaking is pretty good . . ."

 _His ship._ Wedge's voice was fading as her panic returned, but she fought it. "Who?" she asked.

"Vader. Vader himself." Wedge cast a glance around at the audience, and at Luke who was being helped up by Han and who looked slightly less green, and came closer to speak softly just to Leia. "Luke had some kind of - well, Vader uses the Force, right? That's what they say. Figure it got to Luke somehow, him being near."

 _Not just Luke_ was a thought that made no sense, so she pushed it aside. She was - she clenched her fist to avoid a shudder - she was afraid, terrified, of Vader, but that didn't give her magical powers to know when he was near. 

No, she was just . . . she was just . . .

"Your Royal Paleness? . . . Leia?" Han was _there_ again, right there, his hand in the crook of her elbow and the other brushing some loose strands of hair back from her forehead. "You almost looked as bad as the kid there for a second, you all right? Listen, this is good news - they have no idea we're here and they've moved on. It's safe."

 _It's not_ , she thought, but the word _safe_ echoed in her mind along with the feeling of his touch and she had to scrunch her nose to keep from crying a little. The Empire might be gone for the moment, and Luke safe, and Han staying here with them, but she was so afraid that none of that could last.

Han's hand slipped into hers, and she asked herself how long they could go on without something, finally, changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you and sorry to everyone who's reading - thank you for reading this chapter and not ditching the story. :) This chapter was begun weeks ago but writing got hard to do, for reasons I won't go into but a lot of you can probably guess. Sometimes it's more difficult than others to escape into a fictional world, no matter how much we might want to . . . but I hope updates can be more forthcoming after this one.


	16. and further falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia's got bad news for . . . well, everyone who doesn't enjoy freezing.

**Part 16: Abrax I, 2 ABY**

Leia's face was not good.

Well, her face was fine, obviously. But she kept looking at Han with this little line between her eyebrows, like she was worried - or like she was actually about to _apologize_ for something, and that was not good news.

After about half a day of her throwing him sidelong glances with that scrunched up worried look, he finally accosted her as she was passing the _Falcon_. He threw down the rag he'd been using to clean his hands and said, "All right, let's have it. Where do you want to send me?"

"What - nowhere," she said, promptly enough that he sort of believed her. But the line between her eyebrows deepened.

"Then what? You've been looking at me all day like you have to tell me somebody's dead."

"Nobody's dead." More frowning. "Well. Lots of people are dead. But nobody -"

" _Princess_."

"We are setting up a base in the Anoat sector."

She said it so fast that he almost missed it, but his brain caught up just as he was about to ask her to repeat herself. "We got that information almost . . . two years ago," he said once he got there. "Even the thing on Coruscant, that was almost a year back." Which meant it was almost her - their - birthday, he reflected. Not that it mattered to him that she was another year older. Twenty-two. If you were keeping count.

"We've been working on it that long," she said, but that - didn't seem like enough of a reason for her to look that miserable. Unless it was because they would be moving again, but he'd gotten used to hopping around, establishing new bases for the Alliance, only to have it abandon them after a few months or a year. It happened when you were constantly trying to evade the notice of a dictatorial government.

"Are we cutting our losses here?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not right away. More personnel are moving here actually; we have to leave Pathfinder. Eventually . . . we're all moving to Echo Base, almost everyone. That's what we've been doing, trying to find a place big enough for the whole fleet."

"That sounds reasonable," he said slowly. "So what's with the face?"

"What's wrong with my -"

"Like you kicked a baby nerf, Your Highness." He gestured. "Like you kicked the _Falcon_."

She drew herself up to her maximum height. "I only kick the _Falcon_ when you tell me to," she said primly.

" _Leia_." 

Her name was still a little bit magic, probably because he (and most other people) never used it. Her eyes snapped to meet his. "You've set up a lot of our temporary bases," she said. "I thought you might be offended that you weren't asked . . ."

"I'm happy to only do one job at a time, thanks." He peered more closely at her. "And that's not it."

She sighed. "You're going to hate the new base. Everyone's going to hate the new base. The _Falcon_ is going to hate the new base."

Now he felt himself making the same face she was, his eyebrows drawing together. "What's so horrible about the -" Again, his brain eventually caught up. Maps and projections of the worlds in the Anoat system. Vague mentions of why it seemed so ideal for a large hidden base, and not just because the Imperial trade and transport routes around it were favorable.

"No," he said.

She just looked back at him, more miserable and apologetic than ever.

"The _ice ball_?"

"We've been building there for months. They didn't send you - or, us - because so far it's only experts in engineering and drilling ice caves." When he didn't reply, she added, as if they all might have somehow missed this in his background, " _Are_ you an expert in engineering and drilling ice caves?"

"Definitely not."

"Me either."

_Hoth_. No one went to Hoth. No one was stupid enough to go to Hoth. For one thing, there was absolutely no reason for a smuggler - or anyone else - _to_ go there, considering that no one lived there. As far as he knew there was nothing, literally nothing, but ice. And a bunch of Alliance suckers trying to build a base out of caves, apparently.

"Do you have any idea how cold it gets there?"

"Yes," she said, "because I stole all the data on the system from the Imperial Archive. You were there."

"It's colder than space!"

"It is not."

"Okay, maybe not but you'd die just as fast."

"You'd die faster in space. There's air on Hoth." She looked confused about why they were even having this argument. He was honestly a little bit confused about it himself.

He pointed a finger at her nose to strengthen his position. "I'm not going."

There was a tiny wince - a little something just at the corner of her mouth - and suddenly he realized why she looked so miserable.

_She knew I'd say that._

She wasn't worried that he'd be offended (since when had she ever worried about that?) because he hadn't been given extra work (again - when had he ever wanted _more_ hard labor, as long as he was already being paid for another job?). She was worried that this would be the reason he'd finally leave. She didn't want him to leave.

The part of him that knew he actually had to leave at some point, because Jabba and oh yeah, he'd decided it should be soon for exactly this reason, because both of them were starting to get attached . . . that part was momentarily quiet. Despite the fact that he'd just been imagining freezing to death in an ice cave, he felt oddly warm. _She didn't want him to leave._

But she was Leia, so after that momentary reaction she pulled herself up again and said, "If you want to keep working for the Alliance, you are going."

"Who said I wanted that?" Part of him was begging her not to cop out this time. The other part was quietly hoping that she would, because avoiding the whole thing was working okay for them so far . . .

"You, every time you don't leave." Her hands were on her hips now. Good girl. He knew how this would go, and he preferred to win this skirmish, but either way it was possible they could both win the war. Where "winning" now somehow meant "being handed a good enough reason to actually move to an ice ball. With her." "Or do you have enough hoarded up to pay off your crime lord?"

He did, actually. "Yeah. But just paying him off wouldn't be very good business. For one thing, it'd be a wasted trip to the other side of the Rim."

"'Wasted' being defined as satisfying an obligation without being paid extra for it?"

"Yep." That, and he probably needed a bit extra to appease Jabba. More than a bit extra. Probably something pretty fancy. He spread his hands. "Want to send me to Tatooine? I'm dying to take that job. As paying work."

"The Rebel Alliance does not deal with Hutts." 

_Yet_ , he thought, and he could tell by the beat that passed and her tiny little eye roll that she was thinking the exact same thing, which was sort of funny. And endearing.

"Well, then I'm fresh out of ideas," he said, "but I'm not moving into an ice cave."

"The whole command will be relocating there," Leia said. "If you want to keep going on supply runs for us - and get the rest of those parts I know General Rieekan promised you - then you're going to have to go where we are."

Inwardly he smiled, mostly because she'd said "we". To her, he scowled and said, "Well, we'll see."

"Yes, we will."

Victory. Which really meant that one part of him had won, and it was not the part that just wanted to stay alive and not heartbroken and also not freezing _or_ tortured to death by Jabba. Was that victory?

When she approached him a few days later, he was ready with his "no" as soon as he saw the set of her jaw. He'd been expecting punishment this whole time, or at least some job distasteful enough that she thought it would make hanging out on an icicle seem attractive.

"But -" she said.

"No. Whatever you've dredged up -"

"But it's Garel."

Damn. "Really?"

She nodded.

"Not, 'Garel, but by the way you have to go there by way of Dathomir'?"

She shook her head, looking reasonably earnest.

He sighed. Garel was . . . fine. Far, and kind of dangerous in its own way, but . . . its way was Han's way. Coronet City's way. Mean streets and all that, but at least it was normal, ordinary crime, no Hutts or Black Sun. And you wouldn't die if you stepped outside without gear on, which made it one up on Hoth. "Thought they got rid of the Imperials there," he said.

She waggled her hand. "Mostly."

"So - what, supply run?"

"Not unless you just happen to pick something up while you're there." Her moment of coyness lasted only a flash, and it was an inside joke - only the high command really knew how many times he'd brought back supplies that he just "happened to find lying around" in addition to the planned cargo.

Pathfinder Base had so much ale, they'd have to dedicate a whole compartment to taking it with them when they packed up.

"There was a rebel cell there," Leia continued. "A few years ago. The Empire found them and they had to clear out."

"And?"

"And, it turns out they _may_ have left behind classified Alliance information."

He squinted down at her. "May have?"

"Are you sure of everything you might forget when you're being fired on?"

"What kind of information?"

"Some of it's probably obsolete." Crossing her arms, she leaned against a stack of crates. "For instance, there's a good chance there's a file saying that I am a rebel agent."

" _No_."

She shrugged prettily. "Which I'm sure would come as a great shock to the Empire. My father is probably also implicated, and . . . "

"Right." Not that the Empire wouldn't have liked to kill Bail Organa twice, probably, but.

"We're more worried about civilians on Lothal who've helped our cells, and - other information the rebel movements spent years collecting. About the Jedi in particular."

"Is that important?" he asked.

She looked at him for a while before she answered. "General Kenobi was not the only Jedi to survive the Purge. There were others - and some who hadn't completed their training, who managed to escape."

"And that's -"

"Yes, that's important." Leia looked uncomfortably around, as if someone might be eavesdropping, though no one was near. "Aside from the fact that these particular individuals would probably be hunted and killed if the Empire knew who and where they were . . . The Jedi Council knew a lot about the Republic that hardly anyone else did, maybe including Palpatine. Our - some of our people were doing research on Lothal. We don't know what they might have recorded, we just know that it shouldn't fall into Imperial hands."

"And you can't just ask them . . . " He watched the somber look on her face grow even more somber. "Got it."

"We haven't lost contact with all of them, but - some, yes."

He nodded, taking a moment for appearances' sake. Of course he was going to take her, he'd . . . He cleared his throat and asked casually, "You going?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.

And, _what_?

He didn't recover quite fast enough. "Oh - what? No?"

"I, ah. No. No, this one is - you have free rein. Take whoever you want."

"But not you?"

She was biting her lip a little. "No."

"Not exalted enough?"

"I've been to Garel," she said. "And Lothal, I've - enough that I'd be recognized. Or. It's a concern, anyway."

"Oh." Well, that was actually reasonable. "So. You're staying here."

"Yes."

Well. Sometimes there was no winning. Because he wanted her to go along; and he didn't, obviously, because distance was what they needed. Or didn't? And now she was looking up at him with the tremulous, apologetic, hopeful eyes . . .

"All right, well. Um. I'll need more information - what we're looking for, what kind of situation . . ."

Leia was nodding seriously.

"So I can think who - I mean, pilots? Is that what we're talking about, or is it more of a clandestine . . ."

"There's a briefing. I'll get it to you." He couldn't place why she would be looking nervous, but she was glancing off at the pond as if it might save her from something. "General Dodonna prepared it."

"Hey." He ducked into what should have been her line of vision and persisted until she met his eyes. "Something wrong?"

"No," she said quickly. "I mean - no. Just. Thank you. For - taking the mission."

"You're welcome?" He still didn't get it. Unless it was time to just chalk up her weird behavior as Leia being Leia. Inexplicable. Not always predictable.

She looked at him for a while with her arms tightly folded, as if she were making up her mind whether to say something. Then she suddenly gave a little shake of her head to get some stray bits of hair blown loose by the wind out of her face, nodded, and said, "All right. I'll get you that briefing." She turned on her heel and took off.

She really would never stop confusing him.

There were Imperials all over Lothal, but fortunately they'd already gotten what they wanted from Garel and moved on. Even the well-known _Millennium Falcon_ was able to land unquestioned and without incident.

First thing was, there was no _may have_ about that classified information. They had to dig around a little, because the warehouse described in General Dodonna's briefing had been sold and the contents in storage moved back and forth a dozen times as contracts shifted, and the records were a giant mess in the aftermath of Imperial interference. But once they found the crates of miscellaneous stuff that now technically belonged to some landlord or other because the place the rebel cell had been using as a safehouse had finally been emptied out, mixed in with a lot of other stuff from foreclosures and abandoned properties, then yes, there were a few data chips not very well concealed inside other things. It was pretty much dumb luck that no one had really gone through these boxes, and that apparently one of the former members of the Garel cell had remembered the danger and warned the Alliance.

Then again, "pretty much dumb luck" had saved the Alliance enough times that they should consider making it their new slogan.

Han should not have had access to most of what was on those chips, but he needed to verify that they had indeed found what they were looking for, and so he had been given codes and passwords that would get him into the least classified of the classified files. Also, he was curious. And there were two folders labeled "Organa".

The first one he opened pertained to Bail. It was not, as he expected, a list of the cell's contacts with the Viceroy of Alderaan, or some kind of bald statement that "Bail Organa is a rebel agent and you can trust him." Instead, the file assembled bits of what must have been stolen _Imperial_ intelligence on the Viceroy. Pictures and security camera video. Dates and places and people he'd been seen with. It was a dossier on whether the man was a rebel, made from information gathered by the suspicious government that had eventually killed him.

Bail had been a big man, which was somehow surprising even though Han knew that Leia had been adopted. Maybe it was knowing that Alderaan was a pacifist society, that somehow he'd expected its leader to be small and retiring.

The other file was much the same, an assemblage of information - both obviously incriminating and just sort of vaguely suspect - on Princess Leia Organa. Apparently, military equipment in her possession had a terrible habit of getting stolen by rebels. Han bit back a smile when he read that. And another one when he saw the earliest surveillance photo they had of her - from the date, she couldn't have been any older than sixteen. She indeed seemed to be in a part of . . . Coruscant, he guessed, where he would not have expected to see her, and definitely not alone. It looked a little rough, and he would probably have been a little worried if he hadn't known the same girl was perfectly fine and safe (and about six years older) on Abrax I right now. And she was just so - _teeny_.

Other members of his team were milling around, so he hid his grin and closed out the files. 

Leia greeted them on their arrival back on Abrax I, after they'd delivered their cargo to Alliance Intelligence. With the Imperials' security images fresh in his mind, Han was able to trace the changes of the last few years, the worry that always seemed to cloud her expression, the thinness of both her face and (as much as he could tell, given that she'd been wearing ceremonial robes in most of the images and was wearing several layers of Alliance gear now) her body. That they had been hard years showed clearly, but somehow it all just made her lovelier.

And made him want to make things less hard, less draining and painful, in any way he could.


	17. in the footsteps of those we've lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han brought something back from Garel besides secret intelligence about the Jedi. Leia has a poignant birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen Rogue One yet and would like to avoid any spoilers, maybe either skip this chapter until you've seen it, or else stop reading near the end when all the hugging stops. There is a fairly vague reference earlier that I don't think will really spoil anything for you, but up to you.

**Part 17: Abrax I, 2 ABY**

Han approached her on his return from Garel, once everyone else who'd come to greet the returning team had scattered. That in and of itself was not particularly unusual, but he seemed a little hesitant. Almost shy.

"Everything went all right?" Leia asked. It was a pointless question to fill the silence; she'd been briefed over secure channels when his team reached the command center with the information they'd retrieved, and given a cryptic report by Alliance Intelligence regarding the contents. She knew the analysts were already busily at work on the files that seemed like they might pertain to the Jedi. And of course Han had given her an official mission report when they landed.

"Almost too easy," he replied. "I'm going to start thinking you don't trust me with the hard stuff."

She should have been able to come up with a flippant response, but he was giving her that lazy smile and this was one of those times when nothing came to her. She gave him an awkward look instead and dropped her eyes, her gaze landing aimlessly on his hands. There was a scratch on one of them. It looked deep.

"Wedge said something about Eadu," Han put in when it seemed clear that she was failing at holding up her end of their usual repartee. "Thought there was nothing left there after your pilots took care of it a few years back."

"There may not be," she said, finally able to find words. "But we think it's worth making sure."

"All right," he said with a slow nod. "We going to -"

"We don't have to talk about that right now," she said quickly. His eyes looked tired and she wasn't sure if she felt guilty or afraid of seeming heartless or . . . whatever that warm feeling in the center of her chest was. She cleared her throat. "You just got back. It can wait, it'll - be a while before Eadu gets under way."

"All right," he said again, easily. "Well - I missed your birthday while we were gone."

"You did," she agreed. Then, in case it sounded like she was somehow blaming him for that, she added, "You missed Luke's first attempt at drunk swimming. Klivian gave him first shot at the newest batch of fuel tank gin."

His eyes widened a little. "Luke can barely swim sober."

"Yeah. Kellers had to pull him out." 

He'd ambled himself closer to her, a bit at a time, almost like - like they were _flirting_. His clasped hands were almost touching hers. She had to remind herself not to reach out. 

Swallowing hard, she added, "Then he became convinced that he could use the Force to make the water swim _for_ him."

Han laughed out loud, a ridiculously warm sound when it wasn't at her. " _What_?"

"Yeah, he won't live that down for a while."

"At least he'll live." Still laughing, Han reached out now and just brushed her hand with his fingers. "Come and see something."

"What?"

"Come on." With a smile and a jerk of his head, he led her toward the _Falcon_.

"What is it?" she asked again as she trailed after him.

"Just _come_."

She followed him onto the empty ship, Chewie having gone off toward a late lunch with some of the other personnel. He led her to the table in the lounge, where he handed her a glass of something dark honey-colored. The smell was innocuously fruity, so she took a cautious sip. Wine, for sure - and a nice one - though she didn't know enough to identify it more specifically. "Where is this from?" she asked.

"Lothal." He smiled, a glass of his own in his hand. "Thought you'd like something without the aftertaste of engine grease."

"Han . . ." What _was_ this? Despite the yearning that kept her awake at night, if this was a seduction she was nervous and not so sure. Did it mean - somehow she'd always expected that a seduction would start with some kind of discussion. About how they felt. Something. Not every seduction, obviously there were plenty of men who would only be interested in the physical; but she and Han were friends. He'd held her hand; held her. "What -"

He held up a hand and went to a cabinet. "Thought it might help a bit. Hold on a minute -"

What?

He came back with a datapad, busily navigating to some file on it. When apparently satisfied, he placed it on the table in front of her. "I copied these," he said, sounding as strangely nervous as he'd looked when he first approached her. "From what we found on Garel - well, go on."

This was evidently something different from what she'd thought, but she was still nervous. She took another sip of the wine before shifting the glass to her left hand and opening the file he'd shown her.

Her father's image filled the screen - a holopress image, a good one, but one she'd never seen before. "Oh," she said, her hand flying to her mouth.

Han seemed to hesitate for a moment before his hand landed gently on her shoulder. "Some of them are just surveillance, so they're not all great quality, but - you're in a few with him, and . . . uh, well . . ." He reached down and advanced to another image. "Is that . . ."

_Mother_. It was a surveillance image, but a good one, from the high-quality cameras in the lobby of the apartment building on Coruscant where most of the Core world senators had lived. The same one where Leia had lived herself, but her parents were younger in this picture. This must have been when her father had been living there.

"She must have been visiting," Leia said shakily, her fingertips brushing the screen of the datapad. "She's - she did that, when he was offworld. They look . . ." She shifted the screen closer to her. "His hair and - I remember that dress of hers, I think. This would be when I was about twelve."

His hand pressed her shoulder and then was removed. "I'll leave you alone for a while?"

"No." She should have been embarrassed by her quick, vehement response, but she was suddenly afraid for some reason. Afraid of being left alone with her memories and nothing else. "Please -"

"All right." He sounded surprised, but he sat down next to her. Close.

Too late she remembered he might have other places he wanted to be. "Do you mind?"

"Course not." His hand covered hers for a moment, but then - maybe remembering that she would need her hand to navigate through the images - withdrew. His touch ghosted over her upper arm before he settled on putting his arm behind her, his hand low on her back.

He was mostly quiet as she looked through the collected images - a seemingly random selection of everyday nothing moments in her father's life, though if she thought about it she could usually identify the Empire's interest in an occasion. It would be some person he was with, a potentially suspicious location, a public event demonstrating an Alderaanian pride that bordered on the defiant. In one, which looked as if it had been taken only a year or so before the destruction of Alderaan, he was standing in front of a row of palace guards that included Carlist Rieekan. She wondered whether they'd suspected Rieekan's allegiances.

"That Alderaan?" Han asked about a picture of a public festival with her father walking in front of a large crowd, between more crowds on either side. The palace was in the background, soaring over the heads of the guards and members of court who followed him and his companion.

"Yes," she said. She leaned back, just a fraction, so that she could feel his arm against her back. "That's the palace where I grew up." Her mouth gave a wry twist that was matched by her tone, but he didn't make the expected comment.

"Some kind of parade?" he asked.

"It's - it was technically a harvest festival, although with modern year-round farming techniques the connection to the harvest was mostly ceremonial." She took a sip of her wine absently as she thought. "It was colder than usual that year. Still nice enough to have the festival outside - if it rained too much or something, the whole thing would be moved into the stadium, the Hall of Peace, places like that. But everyone had heavy thermals on under their traditional dress."

"You can tell what year it was?"

She smiled even as tears were welling up, not for the first time that afternoon. "I was six," she said. She pointed to the tiny girl, not much higher than her father's knee, walking beside him. 

"That's you?" He leaned forward to look, his arm tightening around her. "You're so little."

She had to press her lips together for a moment before she could speak. "I wasn't old enough to have to put my hair up," she said, lightly touching one of the two long braids that hung over her shoulders in the picture. "And you can see they made me wear a heavy sweater."

"You're sweet," Han said, then coughed as if he'd been caught in the act of something. "You look happy," he added.

"I was." She looked into her younger self's dark eyes, trying to capture that feeling. "Except about the sweater."

His laugh was gentle and low.

Leia closed her eyes for a moment and suddenly felt that she wanted to talk to her parents - something she often tried but couldn't always manage. Now, though, the connection was there. She thought she could find words that weren't just despairing. "I think," she said softly, "I think I could be by myself for a little while."

"Sure." He half-rose from his seat, then stopped and leaned in to kiss her temple. She didn't breathe until he was a few feet away. "I've got some inventory to take care of," he said. "Call if you - you know."

Her eyes closed, she began her conversation with her parents not entirely in the way she'd planned. _He kissed me._ As Han's footsteps receded, she opened her eyes and stared at the cabinets. _What am I going to do about him?_

She'd never have actually talked to her father about a man, of course, and maybe not her mother either. She'd been close to both of them, and they'd loved her with all the pride and focus of parents who'd been denied a child for most of their marriage, but their relationship was never . . . gossipy. Leia and her mother had shared everything but what the holos usually considered fodder for mother-daughter relationships - clothes, trouble with school cliques, cute boys. Both of them (or possibly Breha had just raised her daughter in her own image) were satisfied to wear the traditional things without talking much about it. And the closest they'd ever come to the subject of boys was a discussion of event logistics.

_Leia my love, would the Corseda boy do again for an escort to the winter ball? Or would you rather someone else?_

Her no, or even the smallest scrunch of her nose, would have been enough for her mother. And that would have been enough conversation on the topic.

If things were incredibly different - if, for instance, she'd been rescued off the Death Star by Luke, Han, and Chewie, but Alderaan had not been destroyed - if her parents were somehow still living at home, or in hiding somewhere but still in contact - even then, the most she would ever have said about Han was a recital of where they'd been or what they'd done.

A version of what they'd done that did not include letting him strip her on the lakeshore.

But as they weren't really here anyway . . .

_What would I have told you about him?_ she asked silently. _If we were involved - if I had to introduce him and explain who he was - what would I say? He's a smuggler - I bet most beings would expect you to care about that, but I know the rebellion now. Papa's rebellion. It's dirty and gritty and full of smugglers, and freed Imperial criminals, and spies and assassins. And you both believed in peace, and our traditions, but neither of you really believed in perfection anymore. Or purity. You knew the people you could rely on were sometimes the grittiest, and that the ones who seemed squeaky clean were probably dishonest._

_I've been in an Imperial cell block, Mother and Papa, and it was the cleanest place I've ever seen._

_He's older than I am, and I'd understand if you were worried about that because it scares me a little too. Less than it used to, though. I do trust him._

_The other personnel - mostly the male ones, I guess - talk about him like he must be some kind of womanizer, but I've never actually seen or heard of him being with anyone. I'm still sure he's more experienced than I am - who isn't?_

That was definitely something she'd never actually have said to her parents.

_But I don't know, maybe not that much? Or not the kind that counts, anyway. I'm not sure he knows much more about . . ._

What would her mother have called it? _. . . courting, than I do. Still._ She rested her chin in her hand and let herself form a thought that pinked her face as much as if her mother had actually been sitting there. _He's very good at holding me, though. I feel like that's important._

Her mind went quiet, and the surroundings of the _Falcon_ 's lounge faded as she found that rare space where it felt like she could really talk to them. _Your rebellion is in fine shape. I'm sorry we never got to talk about Scarif or General Kenobi or what would happen next, but we haven't lost so many at once since then. The new leaders we've added are good ones - did you know Colonel Rieekan had officially joined? You probably did, but he's a general now. I think he feels guilty sometimes that he's still alive, a member of your guard, and you're both gone; but at least he has me to watch over. When I get frustrated about that I try to remember that he thinks he's still doing his job for our family._

_You'd like Luke, too. He's new to all this and he's young, but he inspires people._

_Sometimes I try not to miss you._ She swallowed hard and bit the side of her finger at this confession. _It doesn't mean I don't. But I can't let it hurt too much because I have to keep doing what you would have done._

_And I will. We will._

That was why some members of the rebellion thought she was cold, she knew; trying to focus on her parents' legacy rather than on how much she missed them. But that would give no meaning to their deaths - to their lives, even, considering the world they'd served no longer existed and there was nothing left but the fight. And her. And she was strong enough to fight, but she wasn't strong enough to be lonely all the time.

She found him, after a while, right where he said he'd be, inventorying supplies. He turned as soon as he heard her boots on the decking.

"Thank you," she said.

He put down the datapad he was holding and gave her a half smile, more grim than charming. "I wasn't sure making you sad was the best way to say happy birthday."

"It's not - I mean -" She shook her head. "I don't have much - many holos or anything of them left. Especially once the Empire scrubbed the holonet archival footage." 

"I figured."

"So. Thank you."

He considered for a moment, then held one arm out just the smallest, smallest bit. _He kissed me_ , the panicky part of her mind warned, but the rest of her took the invitation. She went to him and wrapped her arms around his ribs, which was much less awkward than reaching around his neck, and leaned her cheek against his chest. She'd have pulled back right away if he hadn't put his arms around her in response, but he did, so she stayed where she was and let him rub her back a little.

"You're welcome," he said, somewhere around the crown of her head.

She laughed, and then froze completely as a realization entered her mind. Another woman - most normal women probably - in this exact scenario would have naturally reached up and given him a kiss. Just on the cheek, or - not. She'd have to tug his face down to her level either way. Her body went stiff as the possibilities ran simultaneously through her mind. She'd give him a quick kiss to say thank you, as half the normal, affectionate women on this base probably would have in her position, and then she'd leave and it wouldn't necessarily have to change anything. Or she'd give him a kiss and then not leave. And he might kiss her back and it was easy to imagine where things might go from there, in the privacy of the empty storage bay. He did smell so familiar and so good, and she liked the way he felt against her, and a whole _lot_ of thoughts she'd never have shared with her mother were happening.

She forced herself to take a deep breath because standing there frozen was going to start to look strange. Immediately she heard her name spoken in a soft, low tone she barely recognized - _just_ her name, not a title or one of the obnoxious nicknames or even one of the more affectionate-sounding ones - and she froze all over again thinking he was about to make the decision for her, because saying her name in a tone like that surely meant he was about to tip her face up to him and kiss _her_.

Then his hand cradled the back of her head and he held her closer, and she realized he thought she was crying. Her brain was pretty equally divided between relief and frustration, because what right did a jerk like him have to be so nice? Honestly.

She was waiting for him to release her, but of course he wouldn't - he thought she'd come to him for comfort because she was sad, and he wouldn't pull away first under those circumstances. He'd let her take what she needed. 

She disengaged from him when it started to feel like soon it might get awkward, saying another quiet "thank you" as she did. He squeezed her arm before letting go and said, "Take the chip, it's yours."

She couldn't say thanks again, so she squinted at him a little and said, "That _is_ a copy, right?" Not that anything in those images was information the Alliance needed - although she wasn't an intelligence analyst, so who knew - but it was the principle of the thing.

He grinned. "Yeah, princess, it's a copy. I know the higher-ups probably frown on stealing intelligence."

Which he'd technically done anyway, but. 

 

Eadu was different from any mission she'd yet been involved with - bigger, and much less clandestine. Although the Empire had abandoned the research facility there when the Alliance bombed it and Galen Erso was revealed as a traitor and probably a saboteur (and killed anyway), a raid on it was still treated with extreme caution. Rogue Squadron provided air cover for the team on the ground, snapping into view out of hyperspace moments after Han confirmed the ground force was in place.

Leia was more than nominally in charge, but she followed Han's and the Pathfinders' lead in getting them across the craggy landscape while evading the few security measures left behind. The cliffs here seemed to echo with ghosts, and not, she thought, only because she knew that a handful of Alliance pilots had died in the attack on the research station. Eadu represented the earliest history of the Empire's weapons research, the work of oppression and death that had been beginning even while the Republic still stood. She knew, because he had shared so much of his information with her, that her father had received his first secret briefings on this place before she'd even been born. It represented everything he'd been working to stop.

Leia gave a little determined nod to no one and scrambled over the rocks after Han. She and the smugglers and criminals and spies and assassins - and all right, one smuggler in particular - had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't specifically change my intentions for what would happen in this chapter because we lost Carrie, but it's definitely not the same chapter I would have written if nothing had happened. Instead I think it's the chapter I needed, and hopefully some of you, too. There are so many ways we can honor her memory and I hope this is one of them. We can remember her legacy. We can rebel.


	18. a little further

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoth manages to exceed expectations, and Han is looking at possibly way too much time in Leia's company.

**Part 18: In space. 2 ABY**

 

Chewie's grumbling had settled into an occasional sort of despairing mewl.

"Maybe we won't actually have to land," Han said, not for the first time. "We can prove we got there without setting down." What they couldn't necessarily do was get all the way back to Abrax I without refueling, but they could land somewhere else - _anywhere_ else - on the way home.

This part in itself wasn't so bad - some peaceful time out in space, just hanging for a while and looking at the stars. The ship wasn't having any trouble at the moment. They were getting paid for this run, over and above their fuel costs. It was life the easy way.

_"Come in,_ Millennium Falcon."

Han grabbed the transmitter. " _Millennium Falcon_ , ready for the next set of coordinates."

The operator on _Home One_ relayed the set of numbers, which Chewie duly entered into the navcomputer. With an inquisitive growl, he showed Han the information that appeared on the display.

Han raised an eyebrow. " _Home One_ \- uh, really?"

A moment of crackling static, then, " _Affirmative,_ Millennium Falcon _. Those are the correct coordinates."_

Han shrugged. "You guys are paying for the fuel." Into the transmitter he said, "All right, making the next jump." He put the transmitter down and said, "Punch it."

The stars ahead streaked into lines before resolving into the blur of hyperspace. Han sat back in the pilot's chair and looked over at Chewie. "Well, they're sure serious about not being tracked."

"Is it our place to suggest an alternative?"

"In theory." Han folded his arms and considered. "I see their point I guess - if we zigzag around within the same couple of systems, it'd be obvious we were just trying to avoid a tail. It's got to look like we're legitimately going somewhere else . . . "

"And, I suppose," Chewie said, "the more systems we incorporate on the path, the more Rebel bases can be brought in without modifying the instructions."

"Right. This way Pathfinder Base can just pick up the trail at the next stop, and . . ." He squinted. "What was the one with the carnivorous plants?"

"Ah - Binaros."

"That's the one. Site B. If I'm remembering right, that should be along our path too." Han stretched. "Still. Something's bothering me."

Chewie made an inquiring noise.

"I don't know. It'll come to me. How much longer to the checkpoint?"

"About five hours."

Han made a face. "All right. Better go get started on clearing out the extra bunk, if we're ferrying Her Highness back to _Home One_ later." He stood with some complaint from his back - it had been a long few hours in the cockpit already. "Let me know if anything happens."

Chewie's grumble of agreement followed him as he made his way back to the crew cabin. Leia was happy to sleep on the bench in the lounge - or basically anywhere, he'd learned - but for a trip of more than one night she'd prefer an actual bunk. And since the last time they'd flown her somewhere that took more than one night, the second crew cabin had been filled with supplies.

He stood for a while with his hands on his hips, thinking for about the twentieth time about Lando's suggestion that the _Falcon_ needed a galley. Lando said he'd always meant to install one, but Han had always suspected it was a subtle sabotage - a way of suckering him into making the ship less efficient. Less cargo space meant less profit, after all.

But right now, some organized food storage sure would come in handy, even if all they were storing was prepackaged and freeze-dried.

And then Leia wouldn't have to share the cabin with crates of instant stew. It wasn't so much that she'd mind; it was that every time they came out of hyperspace he'd picture her being clobbered with a flying crate. And it was no good putting the crates on the lower bunks; she _could_ climb up to the highest bunk, but that was only if he wanted to make bedtime into a challenge course for her. The YT-1300's bunks were really not designed for beings of her size.

Not that they were long enough to comfortably accommodate taller beings either, so basically they were designed for - no one.

There was a blanket she liked that he'd started just storing under the bench. He'd pull that out once he got a bunk cleared.

And maybe - hmm. They were going to be docked with _Home One_ for a while, or at least that was the plan. Did she have quarters lined up, or were the quartermasters assuming she'd keep sleeping on the _Falcon_? Leave it to the Alliance to think they could commandeer his ship one bunk at a time.

If she was going to be sleeping here for almost a month, he really should replace that burned-out light. Maybe put in a little shelf or something, someplace where she wouldn't bang her head on it. And the Mon Cal kept their ships at weird temperatures; they'd probably all want more blankets.

Yeah. Extra blankets. Because he was definitely not going to admit to his first thought when he considered her staying on his ship for weeks in the cold of space, docked on a cruiser designed for giant fish. 

It really wasn't his fault. Not with the memory of the day he'd come back from Garel and given her the images of her father from the retrieved intelligence files - and she'd come to thank him, and they'd stood for so long in the storage bay with her just nestled against him. It continued to flummox him how great that was, how he didn't even feel urgent about wanting anything more. Not that he was completely uninterested in more.

When they first met - well, when they first met she'd been prickly. But underneath, vulnerable and a little sad, which was hardly a surprise, considering. It had been easier back then; he'd found it sweet when she let him put an arm around her, but she was so off-limits - because he'd firmly put her there - that it wasn't so dangerous. Now he was cruising toward making a decision he was afraid of. 

Now that they'd gotten over whatever it was that made her so mad at him, more than a year ago. Which he still didn't really understand, except that she seemed to have come to some kind of decision about it.

Now that she'd found her place; she wasn't a lost girl with nothing real to do, she was a mission commander in her own right.

Now that she was twenty-two and not nineteen, which really shouldn't have made that much of a difference but somehow it did. Or maybe that was an excuse he was making for himself. But she looked so much more grown up now; and she didn't sound like an idealistic kid who was very good at talking like an adult.

Now that she was so much more forward in touching him, and her response to him touching her had gotten so much less skittish. There had just been something . . .

He tried not to dwell on that afternoon in the storage bay because it was leading him down such a scary path. But there had been something new about it. Something he couldn't even really put his finger on, about the way she'd leaned into him or the look on her face or the way her hands felt on his back. He was always amazed at how sweet she could be when she wasn't being prickly, but it wasn't just that. It was - somehow he'd felt -

She'd been _savoring_ it, enjoying how they felt together, instead of just needing comfort or warmth or sharing a friendly moment. And he'd been feeling exactly the same way. 

Now he was helping them plot convoluted hyperspace routes to the iceball he'd sworn he wasn't following them to, because . . . because it was happening and he didn't think he could stop it anymore. Because he was so close to letting himself admit that he knew she had feelings for him. Not friendly ones. The kind that meant it was already too late to save her from getting her heart broken when he left.

And when he admitted that, he'd have to admit he had feelings for her, too, that he could barely understand. He'd have to admit that it wasn't a matter of responsibility or some kind of ethics, when he thought about not leaving her once she got too attached. It was a matter of him being just as attached.

That was it, that was the big scary thing. It was a path that only led to one place. Once he let himself admit all this - and it was a pretty big accomplishment that he was holding it off this long - he'd have to decide not to leave. He'd have to just let himself be a wanted man, the way the rest of them were; except by a crime lord instead of the Empire. Trust being with the Alliance to keep him safe and underground. Accept that loss of freedom.

. . . trade it for the freedom to let himself think about Leia that way.

To think of how he'd even go about starting something. How he'd let her know what his intentions were. Not to mention how to tell her, and the command -

\- and Chewie -

\- that he intended to stick around, and that he'd probably have some people after him. 

On the upside, Leia had very strong feelings about loyalty, and the Alliance, and loyalty to the Alliance. Telling her he was planning on staying might just take care of the whole courting thing. He wouldn't be surprised if she flung herself at him.

Of course he also wouldn't be surprised if she gave him a tiny smile she tried to hide, looked at the ground a little, and then made a speech about his important contribution and walked off. Because that was Leia. Leia would -

Leia would ask him what it would look like if hundreds of ships suddenly started making the same seemingly random hyperspace jumps back and forth across the known galaxy, and _that_ was what had been bothering him earlier.

Chewie's warning alerted him that he'd spent enough time messing around with crates and, if he was honest, staring at Leia's bunk, and that they were about to emerge from hyperspace. His questions would keep until they (finally) reached their top-secret destination.

It was two jumps later that they were finally given landing instructions, and Han flew the _Falcon_ down into an atmosphere that looked solid white from space and not much less white once he was in it. 

If he'd tried to tell himself that maybe Hoth wouldn't be so bad after all, Han would have been bitterly disappointed. So it was just as well that he hadn't tried. He'd been expecting icy hell, and the stark white freezing hangar they coasted into was - pretty much that. It was probably an engineering marvel of some kind, considering the size of the ice mountain it looked like it was carved out of. On the other hand, something was groaning ominously and maybe the whole thing was about to come down on their heads.

Fun.

He eyed the walls and ceilings closely as they were led through narrow passageways to the command center. Chewie had to duck a few times, although that was understandable considering the difficulty of cutting the passages in the first place. Han was more concerned about the occasional repeat of the groaning noise, and the - was that old blood? - smeared on the ice high up on one wall, near a ragged hole.

"Was there a collapse here?" Han asked their escort, a nervous looking sergeant.

"Ah - no, sir. That'd be the wampa."

"The - what?" Han looked at Chewie, who shrugged, hit his head on a doorway, and scowled.

"Here's General Rieekan," the sergeant said hastily, showing them into a room and just as quickly disappearing from sight.

"Captain Solo. And Chewbacca." At least Rieekan looked happy to see them, coming to shake both their hands in an awkward, heavy-gloved grip. "Welcome to the Alliance's new home base."

"It's very - white," Han said, peering past the older man into what must be the new command center. Their previous command centers had been hardscrabble in a different way - sort of poorly lit, kind of dirty, everything in varying shades of faded brown. Mon Mothma and the other dignitaries were usually the cleanest thing in the room. This one - it felt wrong, and it took Han a few moments to place why his skin was crawling. The starkness, the frosty pallor the cold brought to everyone's faces, the white furnishings in blue-grayish light . . . it was a parody of an Imperial facility. Gleaming pristine white done on the cheap, ice and snow serving in place of painted durasteel.

With what he swore was blood spatter in the hall. He'd seen this holo before.

Right about now he'd be yelling at the screen for everyone to run.

"What's a wampa?" he asked.

Rieekan winced, which right there was really all Han needed to know. "You may have seen the hides, they're occasionally traded off-world. Apparently hunters used to come here for a challenge. Large mammals - definitely carnivorous. There don't seem to be too many of them, but a few have noticed . . . let's say they've noticed some attractively large and warm-blooded prey moving into the neighborhood."

"They can break through the walls?" Chewie asked.

Han translated in response to Rieekan's inquisitive look.

"In places where the walls are thinner," Rieekan confirmed. "Of course now we've learned to shore them up, add security measures. Attacks are not . . . common."

"So basically," Han said, "the Abominable Snowman is real. And we're all moving into his house."

"We called it something else on Alderaan, but - apparently." Han's face must have been reflecting his thoughts - which were basically a combination of _are they all insane?_ and _run_ \- because Rieekan quickly added, "It's quite safe. As I said, we've been here long enough to figure out how to keep them out, and the barracks themselves are located deep within the base, surrounded by the thickest walls."

In other words, sleep with one eye open. Which reminded him.

"General - obviously we're happy to try out your hyperspace routes -"

"What did you think?" Rieekan interrupted. "Unpredictable enough? Without being suspiciously so?"

"Probably - the part where we went most of the way back to Corellia after passing it once was probably the oddest. Might raise an eyebrow if someone was watching closely. But - won't someone notice if suddenly hundreds of ships are taking the same 'random' route through the hyperspace lanes?"

"Oh." Rieekan looked sort of apologetic all of a sudden. "Of course they would. And of course we so appreciate your navigational expertise in testing this route for us, but - there are four others."

"Four other . . . "

"Routes. Complete alternatives."

Getting paid to just fly around for a couple days on someone else's fuel credit had seemed fun enough, but the idea of repeating the exercise four more times made Han feel suddenly very tired. "Four?"

Rieekan nodded. "We have other ships testing them now, as well." He paused and added, "You are the first to arrive, of course."

That was probably meant as a sop to the _Falcon_ 's dignity, but Han didn't even care. He was just happy that apparently he _would_ get to just fly back to Abrax I and pick up the princess, after all.

Because he was tired. Not for any other - whatever.

"Do you have any suggestions for avoiding the double-back around Corellia?" Rieekan asked.

Han considered. "Chart?"

"Over here."

Han ran thoughtful fingers through the air over the chart's surface without touching it. "What about setting course for Malastare instead -" He looked up and saw an awkward sort of sabacc face had come over Rieekan's expression. "That's on one of the other routes."

"Obviously they're classified . . ."

"Right, and we're only meant to have one of them." It was not lost on Han the trust the Alliance was placing in him in the first place, letting him have early access to even one of the routes when he wasn't an official member. "And Endor . . ." he suggested, watching the general's face carefully. "Right. In that case, not sure there's any better idea. Any other way you go, your ships would just be stopping dead in empty space and reversing course, and that'd be way more suspicious."

"That's what my lieutenant said, but I'm glad to have it confirmed." Rieekan clapped a hand on Han's shoulder. "And your plans from here?"

"Her Highness is moving onto _Home One_ to coordinate all the transfers. Said we'd fly her there and - probably wait a while. See what else needs to be shifted."

Rieekan's look at him was searching, but it ended with a smile. "Good. She's in safe hands then. We're expecting her here in a month or two; the whole command and all our diplomatic allies are collecting for a strategy conference."

"Hope you've got enough wampa repellant to go around." Han grinned back and shook the general's hand. "Under other circumstances we'd stay here the night and refuel, but I have a feeling we'll be freezing with the rest of you soon enough."

"Indeed."

"The information about that strategy conference is probably classified, too," Chewie said as they were winding back through the passageways to the hangar.

"Probably, but he knows we wouldn't risk Leia's safety." Han eyed his friend up and down. "Think you're bigger than one of these wampa things?"

"I hope so."

 

"They have Abominable Snowmen," was the first thing Han said to Leia when they returned to Abrax I. 

"The wampas were a bit of a surprise," she replied evenly.

"It's like one of those holos where another guy disappears every hour. And then somebody goes to look for him and he disappears too."

"They haven't actually killed anyone."

"There was _blood_ in the _hallway_."

Leia's nose scrunched the smallest bit. "There may have been some . . . minor maimings."

"There's no such thing as a minor maiming. I notice you didn't warn me about this, by the way."

She looked innocently at him. "Did you get maimed anywhere I can't see?"

He wanted to say something, but he was fighting the urge to laugh; and she looked like she was trying not to laugh, too, and also she was blushing just a little.

_Weeks on his ship_. There was no way he was going to make it.

"Anyway, we're ready whenever you are," he said because it was absolutely not true. Except in the sense that they were fueled and stocked and she had a bunk ready that probably wouldn't kill her. "Probably be about three days in hyperspace."

"Tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Sure."

"Rogue Squadron is leaving tonight so they can beat us there and escort us in."

"I'll find them before they leave," he said, which was obviously the reason she'd told him. She left him with a little nod.

She was subdued when they boarded the next day, which it turned out was no better for his heart than her being cheerful and a little bit flirty. Now he just wanted to hug her, but he settled for showing her the cleared bunk instead. She really looked like she just wanted to settle in and take off, though, so he left her to strap into her seat in the back of the cockpit and went to finish the last preparations.

Takeoff was quiet. Once they'd cleared atmosphere and entered hyperspace, in response to Chewie's report, Han relayed to her, "Chewie says two days, nineteen hours to the meet."

He twisted around to look at her in time to catch her nod. She was pale; he hoped she wasn't getting sick again. "You all right?" he asked.

Of course she said, "Fine," as she was unbuckling her straps. "I'm going to go work in the lounge for a while."

He nodded, but got up after a second and followed, hoping it looked purposeful. He'd get a glass of water or something.

She hadn't seen him and was sinking onto the bench. He noticed her putting a hand to her lower abdomen, almost digging it in, and he quickly turned away toward the cabinets before she could get a glimpse of his reddening face. But he was a grown man after all, not a teenager. He passed over the cold water and started pulling together some tea instead. "Everything in place for all the moves?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Pathfinder is evacuating today," she replied, "all but one squadron of X-Wings. They're going directly to Hoth. Almost everyone else will be passing through _Home One_ on the way."

"And everybody else on Abrax?"

"In about two weeks."

After another quick look at her tight expression, he ducked around the corner into his own cabin to rummage in the medkit. "Painkillers," he said casually, handing her the bottle. "Tea's coming if you want it." That doctor would be proud of him, he thought. He turned away before he could see her reaction.

Her "thanks" was soft, but at least she wasn't . . . outraged, or something. Or arguing with him.

He took himself off to update the logs, because otherwise he was going to do something stupid like pat her on the head.

They all ate dinner together - he was glad to see that she had some color back, though she was still quiet - and then Chewie returned to the cockpit to keep the watch. Leia stayed at the table, which was a bit unusual for her when someone else was cleaning up; she was staring into her mostly-empty cup of tea in a broody kind of way. 

"Leia?" he finally asked, resorting to the tactic of actually using her first name.

She took a breath but didn't quite look up. "Does it feel to you like all we're doing is hiding?" she asked.

He considered. "Us personally?"

"The whole Alliance."

She was looking at him now, with tired eyes. He very deliberately leaned against the bulkhead instead of going to her. "Well. I don't know everything the Alliance is doing."

Leia sighed. "I do. I mean. Maybe not. Most of it. Just - it seems like our whole energy is on making sure the Empire doesn't know we're there. That's not what a rebellion _is_."

"You want to fight."

"No." Her chin dropped into one hand. "I want to do - something."

"You want to fight."

"They're not attacking us . . . "

"Because you're good at hiding. Sometimes you have to shoot first."

She sighed again. "We don't do that."

" _That's_ what a rebellion is."

She looked at him sidelong, without lifting her head.

"Sweetheart," he said, "your problem is that someone told you you had to preserve all life at all costs, and also win a war."

Her eyes tightened, which was how he knew that she knew he was right. "A war _against_ the ones who kill," she said, even so.

"What are your alternatives? Diplomacy?"

"You're so . . . Corellian."

"Notice you've got an awful lot of us in your war." Smiling, he pushed himself off the bulkhead and let himself have just this one thing. "You should get some sleep," he said, before reaching out to smooth his hand over her hair. "Yell if you get a concussion."

"If I'm trapped under a hundred pounds of nerf stew, you'll be the first to know." 

The way she was looking up at him, he couldn't resist running his hand over her head just one more time. Then he hustled back to the safety of the cockpit with Chewie.


	19. sleepwalking (not quite)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is still waiting to understand his life.

**Part 19: Luke, _Home One_ , 2 ABY**

 

Ben had mentioned Force visions - offhand, like something that might be important but maybe they'd get to it later - but not like he was teaching, more like he was just casually mentioning something that had happened a few times. Had he ever even mentioned having one himself, actually? All Luke could remember now was _your father listened to a vision once, but_ and then he just hadn't finished. 

Was it going to be a warning? Were you _not_ supposed to pay attention to them? Were they even - Luke didn't even know if they were supposed to show you the future, or teach you something, or just help you understand something, or . . .

He didn't know if they happened when you were asleep, like a dream, or when you were meditating maybe? ( _trying to meditate_ would be fairer in Luke's case)

At any rate, he was on alert for one. Because surely the Force would eventually tell him what he was supposed to do next, or how he was going to finish learning to be a Jedi for real. He had that much faith. The Force had helped him at the Death Star. It wouldn't have sent Ben - sent _Leia_ that close to Tatooine with the droids - to pull him into all this, only to leave him hanging.

So it had been a couple of years. When his faith was strongest, he was able to tell himself that he'd been learning important things in that time. 

But he still watched.

There were some dreams he was comfortable categorizing as definitely not sent by the Force. The normal stupid ones - where he woke up and went about his day, but the mess hall had suddenly moved. Or he couldn't walk fast enough to catch a lift to the upper level. Or the lifts didn't have walls anymore and he had to try to keep his balance.

Or the ones he occasionally had about Alla, or that pilot who'd just joined Gold Squadron, or - once, a bit worryingly - about Shara Bey (who was someone's _mom_ ). He was pretty sure those were not sent by the Force.

Leia was in his dreams sometimes too, but they weren't like . . . that. (Sometimes he also dreamed about Han. Definitely not like that.) In his dreams about Leia, there always seemed to be something she wanted him to do that he couldn't figure out. It didn't make sense when he woke up, either.

He dreamed about Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, and sometimes about Ben. He thought especially hard about those after he woke up, since it seemed like maybe people who'd died would have some kind of message for him. Or the Force would, through them. But they never seemed to be saying anything important; they were just - there. Being them.

There was one dream, though - he'd have thought it must be a Force dream just because it was so vivid, because he held onto the feeling of it for _so long_ after waking. Had been so affected he'd barely made it to breakfast. But it seemed it must not be from the Force after all, because it didn't seem to be telling him anything?

He was in a place he'd never been before - a green, green garden. Since leaving Tatooine and joining the Alliance he'd seen green places, but nothing like this. It was so orderly that at first he actually feared _Empire_ , but no. There was nothing ominous about this place, it was just very . . . tidy. He supposed this must be what formal gardens were like - he'd heard of such things, but never seen them, even in holos.

There were walls of green. Flowers climbing up sort of arches and doorways and things. Trees, all the same size and shape, with flowers _on_ them. A little brook flowing through. Benches, here and there. And it all felt so - tall. Except for . . .

A tiny bridge, barely big enough for one step, crossed the brook and he was so amused by it that he went and walked over it, putting his feet down carefully so they both fit at once. Then he was in another lane, and in this one, lots of whitish-pinkish flowers and another bench, and a little girl sitting on the bench.

"Hello," he said, because it seemed polite.

She turned and looked at him without really moving much. She was sitting very properly - Aunt Beru would have approved - except for her swinging legs. Her feet didn't reach the ground. Her hands clutched onto the edges of the bench on either side of her. "Hello," she replied. "I don't know you."

Reflexively he looked down at himself. Maybe some part of his brain knew that he wasn't usually about seven years old; maybe not. He looked back up at the girl, abashed. "Am I not supposed to be here?" Not that he knew why he was here, or how he got here. Or where here was.

The girl shook her head. Her hair was a bit messy, though it probably wasn't polite to notice. Most of it was in braids, but it looked like she'd been running around and playing for a while. "Anyone can be here," she said. "Are you waiting, too?"

"I don't know." Maybe? "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm supposed to do something. It's important."

"What?"

"I don't know yet." She looked straight ahead, away from him, legs still swinging. 

"Can I sit with you?"

"If you want."

He sat down next to her, careful to avoid the skirts of her dress spread over the bench. "Someone going to tell you? What you're supposed to do?"

She didn't answer at first, and he thought maybe that was a rude question. But then she said, "I don't think they are going to tell me. I think they don't want to."

He thought about that for a while. "If they don't want you to do it, then you're _not_ supposed to." No one had ever said he was very smart, but he knew that much. It was usually pretty clear what people didn't want you to do.

She shook her head again. "They know I have to do it, but they wish I didn't. I think. They don't tell me anything, but I hear them talking about me and they sound sad."

Something about that felt familiar to Luke ( _he's too much like his father_ ) but he couldn't find a way to explain it. 

"Do _you_ know why I'm here?" he asked her instead.

One more time she shook her head, but then she took his hand and held it. "I missed you," she said.

"I missed you, too," he said, because he felt so warm when she held his hand.

"I wish I remembered more."

That somehow made sense to him. 

He leaned back against the bench, his shoulder touching hers. "Do you want me to wait with you?" he asked.

She looked up at him, and her dark eyes looked so sad. "If you can."

"Then I'll stay," he decided.

"Maybe _I'm_ waiting with _you_."

"Maybe." He'd started to swing his legs. His were only a little longer than hers. "I think I might be supposed to do something, too."

Then he was awake, staring at the bottom of Wedge's bunk above him with wide eyes, a sadness lingering on him so strongly that he felt it in his chest. Sadness, or - loneliness, or both. It was like the grief that still hit him sometimes over his aunt and uncle, but more bittersweet, more poignant. Like something had been lost that didn't have to be lost. And under it all - need. His own, or someone else's.

There were words on his mind when he woke, but the only one he could remember a second later was _need_.

"Luke? Luke!"

Wedge's voice broke through a haze Luke hadn't realized he was in. "What? Sorry. What?"

The face hovering over him was worried. "You looked like you were awake but you weren't answering. Or blinking."

"Sorry." Luke rubbed his hand hard over his face. "I was - I'm fine." He wasn't fine, he was gutted and he didn't even know why. "Did - this is a weird question - did something happen yesterday?"

"Something -" In the middle of putting on his pants, Wedge stopped and frowned. "Are you having a memory problem?"

Maybe. "No, I just - maybe, maybe it was a dream."

"Because - and this is rare around here." Wedge went back to dressing. " _Nothing_ happened yesterday. We were docked all day. No one new arrived. No one left, that I know of. Nobody got in a fight in the mess. Literally. Nothing."

Luke shook himself, tried to look and sound normal. "Ever have a dream and wake up feeling guilty, like what you dreamed actually happened? Must be like that."

"We're almost late to breakfast," Wedge said. "You'll want to be fit, because I'm pretty sure - nothing is happening again today."

Luke found a way to grin.

They'd been stationed on _Home One_ for over a month - the longest Luke had ever spent in space. The other pilots had warned him about deep-space-sickness, that beings sometimes started to go a little crazy.

Han said it was mostly an exaggeration, that he'd spent months in space when he was in the academy and been completely unaffected. Leia said he was kind of proving the point.

So far Luke was all right though, probably for the same reason Han had been. _Home One_ was bigger than Mos Eisley, bigger than the biggest city Luke had ever seen. There were quarters for thousands of people, meeting rooms and mess halls and hangars and huge bathing areas because the ship was built for the Mon Cal. It only got a bit strange when you realized you hadn't seen the sky for a while, but Han said then you had to go to a viewport and look at the stars and tell yourself it was nighttime. 

So far, the biggest issue was boredom, because the X-Wing squadrons were mostly stationed on the flagship _in case_ something happened. Of course it was good that nothing had, and nobody really wanted to be defending most of the Alliance's most vulnerable personnel, in space, from Imperial attack. 

But still. Wedge was right. There were a lot of days when nothing happened.

On the way to breakfast they passed a couple of men - a pilot and someone Luke didn't know, in the uniform of ground crew - who greeted each other with grim, sober expressions and exchanged a greeting in a language Luke didn't understand. He knew the pilot was one of Leia's, that was, a surviving Alderaanian, so he assumed that was probably it? He hadn't thought even Alderaanians spoke the language much in casual conversation, but maybe it seemed more important when the world was gone.

That was about what passed for something interesting happening.

Han and Chewie were away; they had gone off on one of many missions to ferry supplies and sometimes people from one base to another, or from one base to _Home One_. There were vague rumblings that the move of the bulk of their forces to Hoth had been delayed - something about a collapse - but some of the bases needed to be evacuated anyway. Which meant more people arriving all the time, and Leia always busy.

By the time Luke finally saw her at dinner that night, he'd mostly forgotten his dream and the cloak of sadness it had wrapped around him for the morning. Something in Leia's eyes reminded him - a shadow. He had a feeling that she was sad, too.

"Are you all right?" he asked her quietly over cups of boiling hot tea (the ship was chilly, and the cooks were going overboard to compensate) at a moment when the others at their table were distracted.

"Fine," she said automatically. She seemed to be both trying to look a bit brighter, and bristling a bit at the question, which he thought only Leia could manage at the same time.

"Really?" he asked even more quietly, working hard to catch her eye.

Her shoulders collapsed a little, and she started to ask, "Did -" before shaking her head and saying, "never mind. It's only - it's my mother's birthday."

"Oh." His mind flashed back on the scene he'd witnessed that morning. "Is it - was it a holiday, sort of? On Alderaan?"

"The Queen's birthday?" She nodded, eyes firmly fixed on her tea again.

"I saw, this morning - ah - there was a thing people said? I mean, to each other?"

"Yes. People have - it's a bit strange, you know, because usually when the queen dies there's another queen and people celebrate the new one's birthday, not - but there isn't a new queen, so the people who - who want to keep tradition, I guess, or who were royalists back when that meant something . . . they keep the day." Leia delivered this speech to her tea, both of them watching her hands wrap slowly around the cup.

"Oh," he said. The word _need_ was flashing strangely in his mind, so he wrapped an arm around Leia's shoulders without really caring who was looking. No one was, anyway, except for Wedge, who nodded and averted his eyes in a way that made Luke think he knew what day it was. 

Leia leaned her head against his shoulder. After a while, she said, "It wasn't like Empire Day or something, you know, it was just - people would wish her a happy birthday and a long life, and she'd give a little speech and thank them." She paused for a moment. "They still do. Wish her a long life. It's - I guess it makes them happy."

Luke had no idea what to say to any of that - well, he suddenly wanted to tell her that he loved her, but that wasn't right. Not that he didn't, but it wasn't the right thing at this specific time. Not that he knew what that was.

She got up quickly, of course, once she decided to. He didn't see her again until the next day when they both turned up to meet the _Falcon_ on its return. Leia seemed - better, but still quiet; and when Han disembarked he put an arm around her for a moment without saying anything, in a way that made Luke think he also knew it had been the Queen's birthday yesterday.

Luke really needed to pay more attention. Maybe they'd all found out last year.

Leia was - well, Luke wasn't _completely_ incapable of noticing things. He'd seen her fight with Han and be prickly with Han; he'd seen her refuse to speak to Han for months and not tell anyone why; but at this point there was no denying that she was _better_ with Han. She still had that smile that she seemed to save for Luke, but when Han was around - when they were all together - she laughed.

Luke had never seen anything quite as pretty, or as heartwrenching somehow, as Leia laughing. Maybe because he knew she didn't have enough to laugh about. Maybe because it was like a vision of how she should have been. Not only if her parents hadn't died, if Alderaan hadn't been blown up, but - if there was no war, no Empire. If she hadn't been raised her whole life to do this.

Something about that seemed important, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully these are somewhat making up for when my posting schedule fell way way behind . . . but I won't always be off work and sick besides, so things will probably go back to once a week. Aspirationally. Thank you for reading!


	20. wanderers left behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia successfully fulfills missions both big and small, but something puts some unexpected distance between her and Han.

**Part 20: _Home One_ , 2 ABY**

She needed a dress.

Technically this wasn't a problem, as the slowly-diminishing packet of her belongings that she'd carried from base to base still included one or two things that were appropriate for diplomatic events. Part of her had wanted to get rid of everything that wasn't practical for military life, but she'd been swayed by seeing Mon in her pristine gowns and the generals in their dress uniforms on special occasions. They called Leia "Commander" now, but she still wasn't really in the rank and file. She didn't have a uniform, let alone a dress one. And when there, rarely, was some kind of occasion, her people would expect to see her looking at least as senatorial as Mon.

To the extent anyone could.

The problem was that Leia's gowns had all been fitted back when she was a healthy eighteen- or nineteen-year-old with a fairly luxurious lifestyle and a remnant of teenage baby fat. She didn't know exactly how much weight she'd lost - it wasn't something there was any need to care about, when half her clothes were Alliance-issue and too big anyway - but judging from the way this dress looked on her, it was at least a size. Maybe two.

At least it was white, which was what everyone would expect. On the other hand, it was white, which, with the particular ways her body had changed, made its loose drape nearly obscene. She'd need to find something to put underneath.

Someone knocked on her door and Leia looked around hastily for something to cover the fact that she looked like she was wearing glorified lingerie. Or, almost wearing it. She pulled on a heavy military-green cardigan before hitting the mechanism to open the door.

"Han," she said in surprise, one hand tugging the cardigan closed over her chest. "I thought you were on your way to Sullust."

"I am," he said, rolling his eyes a little as he stepped into her quarters. She should have stopped him, especially when the door shut again behind him, but he just kept talking and holding out the datapad he was carrying, and somehow she didn't. "Apparently they've reorganized again. Did you know there's now one single officer who needs to sign off on all departures of non-combat vessels? They wouldn't let us leave."

"I didn't know that, no," Leia said vaguely as she fastened a few buttons on her sweater and wondered if there was a way to _casually_ reopen the door and prop it open. "I thought General Dodonna asked you to go."

"He did, but he's not the one whose signoff I need."

Leia thought for half a second. "It's me, isn't it."

"Sure is." He held out the datapad. "Want to send us on our way?"

She supposed it made sense that she'd have been handed this responsibility - she _had_ been coordinating the troop movements. It was only a bit of a surprise that no one had thought to tell her.

On second thought, no it wasn't.

She signed her code to the authorization and handed it back. "Were you able to get the shields fixed?" The _Falcon_ had been hit in a fluke run-in with an Imperial troop carrier, and the carrier had gotten in a lucky shot, damaging the shield generators before Han had managed to escape into hyperspace.

They'd been in radio contact with Alliance command when it happened. Leia still had a tiny scab on the knuckle she'd bitten while she listened.

"Mostly," Han said. "There's a part that's fried - we routed around it, but - uh -" He tucked the datapad under his arm, lifted his hands, and hesitated for a moment before reaching out and tugging Leia's sweater more fully closed.

" _Han_ ," she said, grabbing the collar herself and just missing his hands.

"Hey, I'm helping," he said, backing off a step. "What's with the dress, anyway?"

"I'm meeting the king of Onderon."

"Dressed like _that_?"

His outrage had her blushing and fighting back a grin at the same time. "Obviously not. You interrupted before I had a chance to make it . . . decent."

"Good, 'cause unless we're planning to offer you to the king of Onderon . . ." He scowled down at her. " _Can_ you make it decent?"

"You sound like someone's auntie. I hope so." She caught sight of the look on his face. "Stop looking!"

"There's nothing to look at! You're all - covered up and all."

"Then why are you still looking?"

"Because you're there!" 

"The shields?" she sighed.

"Fine unless we really get hammered. It's a Nordoxicon part we're missing - it's small, but without it the shields we're generating are maybe a third of the power." His mouth twisted. "It has to be white?"

Her forehead furrowed. "Why?"

"No, the dress."

She crossed her arms over her chest, despite being well covered by the thick wool. "Stop thinking about it!"

"No, but - seems like that's a lot of the trouble."

"Oh my - _Han_!" Now she had to be fiery red, she could feel it.

"I'm trying to help!"

She was grasping at anything that might make her feel less mortified, and (oddly) the fact that he was getting red now, too, kind of helped. "It's what they'll expect. If I wore anything else they'd be wondering if I was deliberately flouting Alderaanian tradition, and that would waste time."

"Your mother didn't wear white."

He looked as if maybe he regretted saying that, but she stopped him from getting awkward about it. "She did before she was married," she said. "I mean - not all the time, but for ceremonial occasions. It's - it's just the way it is. Was."

"That's sort of . . ." He tapped the datapad against his thigh. "Sexist?"

"It's actually not. White is the color of an unmarried heir to the throne, regardless of gender."

"Oh. Well, that's better then." He gestured toward her. "Still -"

" _Please_ stop thinking about it. You can't get a replacement part?"

"On Kuat I could, but we can't exactly . . ."

"Right." Worry was maybe the one thing that could distract her from how Han trying _not_ to look at her breasts was not much better than him actually looking, mortification-wise. "Should you be going to Sullust?"

"A third our normal shielding is like normal shielding on any other ship," he said, waving off her concern. "Who's taking you to Onderon?"

"Wedge, with an escort." She studied his face for a moment before saying, not entirely in jest, "Good enough?"

"Lots of great women pilots, you know."

" _Han_."

"Kidding, I'm kidding." He crossed his arms. "You'll be careful?"

"Onderon has always been rebel-friendly," she said. "It'll be safer than you going to the Inner Rim . . . you've told General Rieekan what part it is you need?"

"In case a miracle happens - yeah, I told him."

She relaxed the cross of her arms slightly. "Well. May the Force be with you."

He was smirking a little as he left her quarters. Of course.

 

Onderon was as safe and simple as she'd promised Han. Or as safe as anything could be when it involved traveling through Imperial space - that part might have been risky, but once they arrived on the rebel-held world everything went smoothly.

The king of Onderon - who was forty-seven, married, and _not_ from a culture that practiced polygamy, as she could have told Han if the entire idea of such a conversation didn't make her blush - was kind, sincere, and welcoming. He'd met Bail Organa once or twice and managed to pay homage to him in a way that didn't make Leia want to cry.

She (and Wedge, who remained a bare few steps behind her the entire visit) was greeted with a quiet pomp that made her almost feel as if it were the old days again. Her dress sort of fit, after emergency alterations by a Twi'lek medic who was handy with a needle, and she'd found suitable white under-layers to keep it both modest and warm. There was a little reception in the king's small palace, with ruby red Yavin wine and tiny, flaky, spicy pastries that actually tempted her appetite.

On top of that, Onderon pledged a formal commitment to the Alliance surpassing anything they'd ever been willing to grant before. And they didn't want anything for it. Not credits, not goods or favors, not a squadron of pilots for protection . . . not even Leia. The king was pleased and honored to receive a visit from another royal house, but he didn't expect anything more.

He gave Leia a tour of the assets they'd managed to accumulate in their years of independent rebellion: stockpiled weapons, vehicles, emergency supplies. He told her about the troops they'd been drilling for the last five years - the troops he was now pledging to send to the Alliance's aid. And he bragged, quietly, about their relationships with smugglers and suppliers throughout the galaxy, his ability to acquire almost any needed supply or piece of technology -

Leia stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Anything?"

"Within reason." He offered her a friendly smile. "Is there some additional way we can help the Rebel Alliance, Your Highness?"

Leia's mind rushing several steps ahead, she motioned to Wedge to hand her the comm he carried. "I just need to check something with our command."

"Of course, Your Highness."

The only sour note about the visit was when the king pulled her aside during a cocktail hour, waving off his own guards who stopped several paces away and let them tuck themselves into a private corner. Wedge followed and Leia motioned to the king that this was all right, but she still held up a hand and stopped Wedge before he came too close.

"We've been visited by bounty hunters," the king said in a hushed tone. "The last left a few weeks ago or I would never have let you land - but we've been hearing of increased traffic in the region, on Taanab, on Gorse -"

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

"They're looking for the rebellion."

Her fingers tightened on the glass she was holding, but she said calmly, "So is the Empire."

"And you have a bounty on your head. The Empire is promising a lot for your capture."

Leia nodded and tried hard to tuck away her nerves. This was not new information, after all. "I know. We all - the entire leadership of the rebellion has bounties out on them."

"I don't think it was you specifically they were after - they were spending a lot of time at the docks, talking to the freighter captains. Asking about where we're getting some of our more difficult to find goods." When Leia frowned, the king clarified, "They were asking about smugglers?"

Leia was quiet for a moment. "On behalf of the Empire?" she asked.

"I don't know."

Wedge had taken a step forward, drawn by the look on her face. She shook her head to let him know it was all right.

"Thank you for telling me," she said softly to the king. "We'll - I'll be aware."

She mulled that over through the rest of the visit, and the trip back to _Home One_ ; but guessing at the motives of bounty hunters was difficult at best. Of course the mention of the word _smuggler_ triggered a reaction in her, but (as she had noted more than once) there was more than one smuggler working with the rebellion. Some of them had even actually enlisted. There were better things to focus on - the success of her mission, and even of her little side project.

When Leia and her escort left Onderon a few days later, it was with a nondescript crate about the size of R2 tucked into the corner of her cabin.

She was back in her chilly quarters aboard the frigate for a week before the _Millennium Falcon_ returned from its trip to Sullust. The alert that they were back came through while she was meeting with General Madine and Admiral Ackbar, so some hours had passed by the time she was able to make her way to the main hangar.

She'd worried that - _wondered_ , wondered whether Han would be with the ship or if he'd have gone off to report in or find some lunch or . . . anything. But he was there, just descending the ramp and wiping his hands on a rag, as if he'd been fixing or fiddling with something.

He brightened when he saw her - which made her chest feel warm, so much so that she really hoped she wasn't blushing. "Your Graciousness," he called cheerfully. "Did the king like-"

"Whatever you're about to say," she said, holding up a hand, "please reconsider."

He grinned. "How was your trip?"

"It was fine," she said, nodding to acknowledge his good behavior. "Onderon has been rebelling against the Empire for years, but they've never been willing to join a concerted effort. Now they're promising to send us a deputation of trained ground troops, once we're established on Hoth."

"How many?"

"About four hundred." Her mouth twisted in response to the look on his face. "I know. There were that many stormtroopers on one level of the Death Star. But we have to build up somehow."

"And one guy took out all those stormtroopers, I guess." He tossed the rag aside and folded his arms over his chest.

"Sullust?"

"Easy. I reported in to Dodonna already. Imperial presence in the sector is down, I think he wanted to know that as much as he wanted the cobalt."

"And your shields?"

"Weren't tested, fortunately."

She rocked back on her heels a little. "I have something for you."

His eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Mmm-hmm." She looked off to where she'd left her tiny accomplice waiting by the side of the _Falcon_. "R2?"

R2 rolled his way over, pushing a wheeled dolly with the crate she'd picked up on Onderon.

"What is it?" Han asked.

"It's a Nordoxicon A7-4378-Z9," she recited. ". . . that's right, isn't it?"

Eyes wide, he opened the crate and carefully removed the part she'd requested from the king of Onderon. "Yeah, this is right - how'd you get it?"

"You're not the only one who has ways," she said, letting herself enjoy a moment of smugness.

He looked up at her with an open and sincere expression that could have recruited entire worlds to the rebellion if he'd used it for good. " _Thank you_ , sweetheart." It was one of the times when it almost sounded like he meant something by calling her that, rather than just being a conveniently generic means of address.

"Why don't you let R2 take it on board?" she suggested, mostly to prevent herself from saying something sappy instead. Or to cover for the fact that she didn't even know what that would be. She was so tongue-tied when it came to the idea of trying to express to him - well, anything. Anything real.

"Thanks, R2," Han said, and the little droid bleeped in response and rolled up the _Falcon_ 's ramp with the crate, in which Han had replaced the new part for the shield generators. "So what now?" he asked.

She frowned. "I assume you attach it to the ship? That's really not my expertise."

"Yeah, I got that part under control." He came closer, hands in his pockets. "I mean you, what's next for you?"

"Oh." There was that tongue-tie. "Broadly, or - right now?"

He smiled. "Either."

"Um - well. Nothing in particular, I guess." Her hands twisting together reminded her how cold they were, and her feet, too. Everything felt like a solid block of ice on this ship. "Might stop into the pilots' lounge, actually. I heard someone rigged up a miniheater."

R2 rolled back down the ramp, now empty-handed (or empty . . . probed) and chirped at them as he took off, presumably in search of Luke.

Han was another few steps closer. "Well," he said, his manner uncharacteristically subdued. "If you think you'd like some company . . ."

Quick images of a lot of ways to warm up that did not involve a miniheater flashed across Leia's mind in the time it took her to say, "I might."

Han was about to say something else, but he was interrupted by the blast of a klaxon. "What -?" he asked instead.

The klaxon continued and then was overlaid by a loud Mon Calamari voice on the annunciator: " _Imperial ships off the starboard! Pilots, report to your squadrons. Repeat, all combat pilots, to your squadrons._ "

"We're under attack?" Han asked, sounding as shocked as Leia felt.

"It's a Destroyer!" Klivian shouted as he ran past them with his helmet under his arm, a droid struggling to keep up. 

Han touched Leia's elbow to get her attention back. His face was drawn. "Come on, I'll get you out of it," he said. "Chewie's already on board."

She was tempted - because it was him, and because she was afraid, but she shook her head. "I can't. I have to get to the command center -"

The ship trembled - a minor quaking, but on a ship this size that meant a hit that would have sent a smaller ship rocking.

"Are you sure?" Han asked.

She nodded, her lips drawn tight.

General Dodonna strode past them, clearly on his way back to command. "Solo," he said.

"We can help," Han offered.

"No, you can't!" Leia interjected. "Your shields. You haven't fixed them yet."

"Then we'll have to not get hit."

General Dodonna gave him a quick nod. "Stay on comms once you're launched. Might be you can give our squadrons some cover."

"Han . . ." Leia said as Dodonna strode off.

"Catch up with him," Han said in response. He caught her hand and held it. "Be careful."

"You too."

"It'll be all right." He squeezed her hand, then let go. "Go, stay with command and be safe."

She ran after General Dodonna because she couldn't watch Han board the _Falcon_.

The fight was mercifully short. No one knew whether the Empire had found them on purpose or just stumbled across them and decided to attack. Admiral Ackbar quickly decided that the best course of action was to run - the most their fighter pilots could do against a Star Destroyer was stall it, and the frigate had too many civilians on board to risk hard battle. The rest of the fleet was spread across the galaxy between here and Hoth, too far to be of help.

Ackbar swiveled in his seat, croaking instructions to the squadron leaders as well as to the crew of _Home One_ , who were trying to navigate into a safe spot to make the jump to hyperspace. The Alliance fighters took a few hits, but mostly they seemed to be doing well, at least against the TIEs that had launched like bees from a hive.

At last the frigate made its jump into hyperspace, Ackbar shouting on all channels for all their fighters to follow. "What are we hearing?" General Madine asked from his spot beside Leia. "Any losses?"

"None," "none," came the reports from personnel at the various communications stations. Leia started to relax.

"Sir!" a young Togruta called from a station across the command center. "It's the _Millennium Falcon_ , they say they've been hit."

Leia's knuckles went white as she clutched the back of a chair.

"Damage?" Ackbar barked.

The Togruta was quiet, listening through his earpiece. "They say the hyperdrive is crippled; they can't follow us. They're going to have to land for repairs."

"Can they reach Kala City?" Madine asked.

"That's where he says they're headed, sir."

"Any injuries?" Leia asked, the question rushing out of her.

The Togruta repeated the question into the transmitter, then shook his head. "No, ma'am."

Leia felt her stomach settle back down to where it belonged - mostly. "Will you ask them to get in contact once they've arrived planetside?"

"Yes, ma'am."

As the Togruta turned obediently back to his station, Leia let herself walk around and sink into the chair she'd been leaning on. _Too close_. At least, with the part she'd brought them, Han and Chewie would be able to repair the _Falcon_ 's shields as well as hopefully getting their battle damage fixed. But she couldn't help thinking she should have stopped them from joining the fight. "I knew their shields weren't at full power," she muttered.

"So did he," said General Madine mildly. "And it sounds like their fancy shooting is what kept Gold Squadron alive." He patted Leia's shoulder. "It was a good fight, Your Highness."

She nodded at him and smiled, and tried not to think _but he's not here_.


	21. leap of faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more mission pushes Han to a decision. There was never really any doubt.

**Part 21: 2 ABY**

Things got hot real fast.

A few Imperial inspectors, that they were expecting. The stormtrooper garrison was a surprise. A bad surprise.

But nothing compared to the surprise they got when a seemingly ordinary trooper transport suddenly rose up on previously-hidden legs and became a walker.

"Those are getting . . . better," Han said, staring at the walker from the street corner where he, Leia, and a couple of Pathfinders were trying to blend unobtrusively into the shadows.

Leia turned to look at him. So did the other guys. Fair enough.

"I didn't say it was a _good_ thing," he muttered as the walker made its staggering way up the street. "I'm not exactly in favor of the Imps getting better tech. But look at it - I mean aside from the fact that those legs were completely folded underneath; it's steadier than the old ones. Bigger viewport . . ."

"Maybe more vulnerable," one of the Pathfinders said.

" _Maybe_. But I wouldn't count on it."

They all watched silently as a second transport sprouted legs and rose into the sky.

"Barely a wobble," Han said.

"In an outpost like this," Leia said thoughtfully. "So are they using this demonstration to test the new ones out, or . . ."

She was right, Han realized. This backwater in no way merited deployment of the best machines the Empire had in its arsenal. That stuff would be saved for Coruscant, for big Imperial facilities, for worlds like Kuat and Corellia where the people were numerous and rowdy. So if fancy new walkers were being used here, that either meant it was a test as Leia suggested, or, they had so many of them that they could afford to use them everywhere. Which would mean the Empire had been constructing an enormous stock of newer, better walkers. "Or," he agreed grimly.

Leia probably didn't mean to take a small step closer to him when a third transport appeared, but she did it.

Han didn't quite touch her, but his left hand extended by reflex behind her back, so that he could touch her or shepherd her somewhere if need be. "What do you think, another 'example' to keep everybody in line?"

"What do you think it's called," Leia said, "when there's nothing left _but_ examples?"

"You're the university girl," Han replied. A fourth transport rolled up the street. "I'd just call it trouble."

The fourth transport stopped almost right in front of them - just a bit further up the street, but unlike the first three it didn't pop a couple of legs out and stand up. Instead, the sides rolled down and stormtroopers stepped out, blasters at the ready, in neat lines.

Han tried to sidle sideways without really moving. They should still be pretty camouflaged in their corner. Leia was small - it would be easy enough for him and the other guys to hide her behind themselves, if they could manage it without being noticed. Then - if she could slip away -

The lines of troopers started to march away from the transport, toward opposite sides of the street. Toward them.

"Princess," Han muttered, with his hand to his mouth, disguised as a cough. 

"Don't panic yet," she said. A huge smile was plastered on her face as if watching stormtroopers march in line was like a trip to the circus. "They're not looking for us."

"When are they not looking for you?" He leaned toward her again with his body, not moving his foot until it could look casual. "Kaveen," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "Need you to get in front of the princess. But don't look like you're getting in front of her."

The Pathfinder he'd spoken to obligingly pulled the cap off his head, rubbed an arm across his brow as he stared up at the Imperial walkers moving down the street, then fumbled the hat and dropped it in a way that sent it landing out in front of Han and Leia. "Oh, sorry," he said. He dodged between them, jostling Han aside, then grabbed the hat and stood up again substantially in front of Leia. Han used the jostling as cover to get in front of her as well, when he stepped back in.

From behind Kaveen's back Leia asked, "No one's going to think it's strange that you're blocking a woman half your size? Or rude?"

"I'm from the Outer Rim," Kaveen said nonchalantly, without taking his eyes off the troopers. He clapped a little as if enjoying the display. "I am rude."

Leia shoved Han from behind and made him stumble a little - whether out of actual pique or to give the appearance that she minded being blocked, he didn't know.

The troopers had stopped in a line facing them. The last of them was still a bit further along the street than Han, and none of their helmets faced anywhere but straight ahead, but he knew they had a tiny bit of peripheral vision in those visors.

He tried not to move or breathe, while not _looking_ like he was trying not to move or breathe.

Troopers on speeders came up the street between the lines formed by the standing troopers, as the now-empty transport closed up its sides - well, not completely empty, as it obviously still had a driver - and rose up onto its spindly legs. The speeders followed it, and Han let out a small breath. An escort, then, rather than a hunting party.

"Leia," he muttered down over his shoulder. "Clear behind you?"

"No troopers," she said. "No obvious Imperials."

A big open hovercar was cruising up the street now, filled with passengers in the uniforms of Imperial officers.

"Good," Han said softly. "Get Luke, get back to the spaceport."

"Not till we get what we came for," she said, predictably.

"We'll get the files. You're recognizable and you stick out, and I want you out of here."

"Dark-haired human women are very common on this world," she protested.

"Still recognizable," he hissed. "We don't have time to argue this. Get. Back. To the ships. After this little demonstration is over, we'll get the files and meet you."

"Try not to get killed," she said, and then she was slipping off, darting around a corner. 

Too easy. Han frowned as he watched another hovercar coast its way past.

Way too easy.

The town mapped itself out in his head. Until this street had been blocked by the Imperials' little showoff song and dance, crossing here had been the most direct way to the lab.

This was supposed to be simple. Tiny chemicals firm, sold stuff to the Empire but wasn't an Imperial facility. Tiny backwater world. No one would expect them. In, out.

Right.

So to avoid this roadblock - unless they could wait for it to disperse - they'd have to circle around far enough to get behind the town hall, where the little parade was presumably starting. Past the warehouse where Luke was going after information about where the firm got their materials. Circling up past what was normally a small Imperial guard outpost.

Around behind the town hall, in other words, exactly the direction Leia had just run off.

He swore under his breath, then nudged Kaveen and another guy - Jallis? something like that. "You two with me," he said. "Everybody else, stay here so they don't notice us leaving. We're hitting the lab."

"Now?" maybe-Jallis asked, doing a pretty good job of looking like he was commenting on the very nice shiny hovertank which was now making its way past them. "Why not wait?"

"Because that's where _she_ went."

Both of them looked a little dumbfounded. Not used to working with Her Majesty, then.

He punched one of the other Pathfinders in the shoulder - just guys, joshing around - and managed to switch their positions so the other guy was closer to the street. A bit of friendly shoving ensued as Jallis and Kaveen managed the same, then they all eased their way further back into the crowd.

Not a stormtrooper moved. No one was watching. At least not obviously.

"Why would the princess go to the lab now?" Kaveen asked as they slipped away.

"Because the only alternative was doing what I told her to." 

"She does outrank you," Jallis said.

Han pointed a finger at the other man's chest. "I'm not in your ranks. No one outranks me."

"She's royalty. She outranks everybody."

"Sure, if you're talking about seats at a state dinner." Surreptitiously Han checked his blaster. "Let's move."

He started running as soon as they were out of sight of the Imperial ridiculousness going on in the street. He hadn't thought the city seemed this big - it seemed to take forever to race back around the town hall - ducking low behind parked speeders as they passed the empty troop carriers and the troopers left to guard them - and through the streets toward the lab.

The shooting started when they were still a block away.

"Shooting," Kaveen said, panting heavily.

"Good point," Han shouted back at him.

The shots came in tight clusters - two, then three, then two. Smoke was rising from somewhere in the back of the building that housed the lab.

Han was still racing toward it in horror when Leia emerged from a cloud of dust at the side of the building. She was carrying her blaster and a little carrier bag, and when she saw him he'd swear she rolled her eyes despite how fast she was running. He was so relieved to see her that he almost didn't want to kill her himself.

"Go!" she shouted as she came toward him.

Han skidded to a stop and allowed a small internal sigh for his straining legs and pounding heart before they were all running back the same way they'd come.

"Figured - Imperials - all at the parade," Leia gasped.

"You _figured_ . . ." He paused to take in a few heaving breaths. "You'd show me up instead of listening."

"You're not - in charge!"

A few shots behind them. To Kaveen's left, a crate exploded. Han turned as he ran, firing back in the hopes of hitting or at least slowing them down a little.

"Argue later," Han said. "Run now."

They dashed through the streets, turning erratically to fire back and maybe thinning out the group of troopers chasing them, but the blaster fire still came.

"There," Jallis said as they raced around a corner. He was pointing to the back of an industrial building, lined with dumpsters and shipping containers. "Hide. Lose them."

"Do it!" Han called back.

One after another they dove behind a dumpster; Han halting so that he could shove Leia ahead of him. "Tell me this is at least a bad news, good news situation," he said to her as they all dropped onto the ground in a sweaty line, backs against the side of the dumpster. Leia's shoulder was touching his, her elbows on her bent knees and her blaster beside her. He supposed maybe the good news was that she hadn't been captured in her attempt and none of them were dead yet.

"I got the files," she said. All right, so there was some good news. She held up the carrier bag. "And samples."

" _Samp-_ " He stopped and lowered his voice. "They're shooting at you and you're running around with samples of experimental knockout gas?"

"They weren't shooting at me when I took it," she said.

They heard shouts and the sound of heavy, booted running feet and all of them froze.

"I don't want to risk comming Luke," Han whispered after the footsteps seemed to have passed them by. "He might be in the middle of it."

"Here." Leia pulled a chip from her pocket and passed it over to Kaveen. "They saw my face, they didn't see yours. Take it back to the ship and find the others."

Kaveen motioned to the carrier bag. "What about the -"

"Too suspicious," Leia whispered.

Kaveen looked to Han, who nodded after a moment's thought. "Somebody has to let the others know we're laying low. She's right, they only saw you from the back and your clothes look like anybody's. You and Jallis both go, it's safer not to leave anybody alone."

Both men hesitated, but when Han waved them off, they got to their feet and made a cautious exit. Han waited, breath held, but didn't hear anything.

Leia looked at him and her lips parted, but then there was the sound of marching feet. Han quickly put a hand over her mouth.

She glared at him from behind his hand, and he dropped it. Meanwhile they heard the filtered voice of a stormtrooper from somewhere very close. "You two keep watch," it said. "We'll keep looking."

Han and Leia looked at each other. He saw that her blaster was back in her right hand.

Footsteps marched away, and then there was the sound of more casual wandering, the crunch of gravel. Two troopers. Patrolling the area right on the other side of their dumpster.

Leia shrugged at him. Nothing they could do until the troopers gave up or were called off. Unless the troopers decided to start searching, in which case they'd have to fight.

Han needed to breathe hard, to get some wind back, but it was a struggle to do that silently. He forced a few slow, very deep breaths until he thought he could manage to breathe normally without panting.

At least Leia didn't seem to be hurt, though she was dusty and a bit bedraggled. And he wasn't hit, and he thought the others had been all right too. So far it was better than it had any right to be, considering Leia had charged in on her own.

They'd be talking about that - a lot - later, but for now she was here safe next to him. And they were sitting very close, and the fact that he'd been a little bit terrified of her getting killed was sinking in. He slumped sideways and dropped his forehead onto her shoulder. 

Immediately she touched his arm, and whispered very softly, "Are you all right?"

He nodded before straightening up and shifting closer, curved over her so that his nose was brushing against her hair. She smelled like dust and sweat and ozone, but underneath was Leia, the familiar smell that he recognized. _Too close_ , his mind warned him, and _not the time_ , but he found himself lifting a hand anyway to stroke back the wisps of loose hair around her face. He felt her hair against his lips as he lowered his head, mouth closer to her ear, and asked, "You all right?"

She nodded, though she was otherwise very still.

His arm was shifting around her shoulders, pulling her even closer. His free hand reached over his lap to take hers and twine their fingers together.

It wasn't the first time - not hardly - that he'd put his arms around her, or even the first time he'd held her hand. But it was different, as they both sat there half holding their breath and not making a sound; it was the edge of something. He pressed a kiss to her hairline, then another in the same spot. Her fingers tightened on his.

He was smiling suddenly, despite the troopers on the other side of this flimsy shelter. Though he should have been focused on their situation, they were stuck for the time being and this was the closest he'd been to her since he'd started seriously thinking about staying. It had been months since then but circumstances had kept separating them. Now, though, with her tucked against his side, all he could feel was _right_. It was done. He was in it - they were in it; he was pretty sure she was on board - and the possibilities were spreading out in front of him, real and immediate. This could - was going to happen. In his mind were all kinds of the ridiculous, mushy things he had never let himself think about; never even really wanted to think about with anyone before her: were her feet cold in bed (probably). Had the scars on her back faded. Did she have any new ones. Would sitting on the table in the _Falcon_ make her the right height to kiss him. Would she hold onto him in her sleep.

Yeah. It was pretty much decided.

His fate, not the part about her clinging in her sleep. Though he was also pretty sure she would be a semi-clinger. A little distance maybe but holding onto his arm, his hand.

He was just getting into some kind of deep stuff - like, would she like what he looked like out of his clothes? He'd never gotten any complaints, but it had been a while and all, and anyway Leia was different, she was - actually, had she ever even seen another man naked? Of course if she hadn't, there'd be nothing for her to compare him to, which might be all right.

But she interrupted this contemplation with a little nudge of her elbow. At first he was worried that she was pushing him away, but when he looked down she was holding out a little glass vial.

He met her eyes and she gave a tiny shrug with one shoulder.

She had a fair point. They couldn't just sit here forever, much as he didn't mind at the moment. He took the vial and held it up, waggling it at her, then pointed to the carrier bag in silent question.

She held up one hand, all five fingers spread, then held up one finger on the other hand and pointed to the vial. Five left after this one. Plenty. Probably. He wasn't a chemist.

He unwrapped his right arm from her shoulders and transferred the vial to his right palm. She nodded, and he got slowly to his feet and pitched the vial over the dumpster.

The shattering sound was soft but definite. Han pressed his lips tightly together and put a hand over his mouth and nose, as a signal to her. _Don't breathe_. She nodded with one hand clamped tightly over her mouth.

"What was that?" one trooper asked.

"Something broke - I don't know, a window, or -"

If this took any longer either Han or Leia would pass out themselves. 

"I didn't . . . what . . ."

The trooper sounded a bit fuzzy. Leia was easing to her feet, carrier bag in her left hand and blaster ready in her right.

Thump.

"What . . ." slowly, blearily, and then another thump.

Han slowly peered out from around the dumpster. Two troopers on the ground. Good thing this stuff was strong enough to get through their helmet filters. Come to think of it, his eyes were starting to sting a little.

He motioned behind him for Leia, and then he was running as hard as he could without breathing, listening for her footsteps behind him. He made himself not wait for her - he had to get outside the range of the gas; if he was unconscious he couldn't help her. He needed a clean breath.

Once they were passing people who were fully conscious and not apparently affected, he let himself gasp in a few heavy, panting breaths while he waited for Leia to catch up.

Somehow, somehow they made it back to where they'd left the _Falcon_ and the Alliance shuttle that had brought the Pathfinders. Without getting stopped, or shot, or chased by a hovertank.

Chewie was roaring when they dashed up the _Falcon_ 's ramp, and not in happiness at their victory. "I know, I know," Han said, a bit of his temper returning now that he wasn't distracted by Leia's physical presence actually touching him. "Ask her!"

"I got what we needed!" Leia said, exasperated, like him so easily falling back into their comfortable patterns.

"Against orders!"

" _Orders?_ "

The ramp was already raising. Han dropped into the pilot's chair. "Yeah," he said. "Who was in charge of this operation?"

"Me," she said as she strapped herself in behind him.

"Then what'd you bring me along for?" he asked, twisting to look back at her.

Her eyebrow arched. "Moral support, obviously. Where's Luke?"

"Here," Luke said, dashing into the cockpit and finding himself a seat. "You get the files?"

"And samples of the gas for our scientists to analyze," she replied.

"And nearly a souvenir blaster bolt to the back," Han griped. "Chewie, have we heard from the others? Everybody on board?"

"They're ready for takeoff," Chewie said.

Leia leaned forward a little in her restraints. "Was that -"

"It's yes," Han said. "All right, let's get out of here before they decide to send one of those shiny new walkers after us."

As he rushed through takeoff he heard Leia ask behind him, "Did you find anything out?"

"Whatever kyrdios is, they use a lot of it and it seems to come from this world," Luke said. 

Han frowned through the viewport, anxiously watching to see whether the ground crew would give the clearance signal. "I know that, it's a stabilizer," he said. "The tibanna gas mines use it. Keeps the gas from blowing."

"So it's not the poisonous ingredient." Luke sounded disappointed.

"We don't know that," Leia said. "Combined with tibanna gas it's not, but who knows when it's combined with other things."

"I was able to get some shipment manifests, too," Luke said, just as Han finally got the all-clear. The _Falcon_ rose from the spaceport, leaving behind the smoking lab and the lineup of Imperial walkers.

"How were we allowed to leave that easily?" Leia breathed.

"They checked us out, before you two got back," Chewie said. "We showed them our papers, they saw our crews."

"Your crews?" Han asked, smirking.

"Not me, obviously. These Imperials think all Wookiees look alike, but since I _am_ one of the wanted ones . . ." Chewie chortled. "Anyway they thought we were innocent. We were sitting there sweet as can be while vicious terrorists were setting the city on fire."

Han snorted.

"They . . . came to the ship already?" Leia asked.

Han spared her a glance over his shoulder as they rose out of atmosphere. "Hey, that's not bad."

"I'm getting a little better," she said.

"Watch it, Chewie," Han said, grinning. "No more dirty jokes."

"Do I look like Wedge Antilles to you?" Chewie asked.

Han was still chuckling as they radioed the Alliance, as they jumped to hyperspeed. He was still half smiling when Luke excused himself to his bunk, when Leia followed, saying something in a low tone that only Luke could hear; but the smile had a tight set. He went after her as soon as he could leave his seat. "We need to hash this out, Your Highness," he said as he came into the lounge. "Where'd Luke go?"

"He wants to meditate." She sat down at the table, rubbing her eyes. "Hash what out?"

"Meditate?"

"The Force is trying to tell him something. He says."

"Ah - okay." He leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded over his chest. "This is the fifth time you or Dodonna's asked me to work with the Pathfinders."

"You're good at it."

"I know. So why do you ask me to lead them in the field and then _not listen_?"

"I'm not a Pathfinder," she said.

"You can't be a rogue agent, either. We got people trying to listen to both of us and neither of us listening to each other. It's a miracle we're not dead."

She looked at him for a while before saying, "That's - yes, I suppose that's true."

"Then can we agree next time on who's in charge? Because if it's both of us, sweetheart, then it's nobody."

"Spoken like an officer," she said.

He narrowed his eyes and repeated slowly, "Can we agree?"

Leia's chin lifted. "Not if you're going to send me away because you think I can't handle myself."

"Nobody who's ever met you thinks that."

"Fine, because you want to protect me, then."

He looked at her. She looked back, challenging.

"Fine," he conceded. "Guess you've proved you'll only get in more trouble if I try to send you out of it."

"If by 'get in trouble' you mean finish our mission. Sure."

He had to smile. But she was looking drained, rubbing her eyes again, rubbing the back of her neck. "You're tired," he said. "It's nine hours back to _Home One_ , why don't you grab a bunk for a while?"

She shook her head. "I'll be groggy when we arrive."

"As opposed to if you go without sleep?"

"I'm no more tired than anyone else." She looked up at him with an expression he couldn't read. "Talk to me for a while?"

"Um," he said, taken aback. "About what?"

"Anything. Keep me awake."

"All right." He thought for a moment. "How's the move to Hoth coming? Kind of noticed we were supposed to be there months ago."

"Not from all the way over there," Leia said, quietly.

Oh. So. Okay, so this now. He pushed off the wall and went to sit next to her, moving slowly as if he might startle one of them. "Tell me the truth," he said, aiming for a normal, teasing tone. "Are you just stalling and hoping somebody'll find a less horrible planet in the meantime?"

She laughed, tipping her head back against the bulkhead. "Technical difficulties."

"That's what you tell the troops when you don't want to have to explain."

"The more people we move there, the warmer it gets in the tunnels."

"Good?"

"It gets warm, the walls holding up the ceiling melt." She smacked a hand onto the table. "Crash."

"Not good."

She rolled her head in his direction, smiling a tired smile. "We'll figure it out."

"Figuring it out means making it colder on purpose, doesn't it?"

"Probably." 

He took a breath, held it, and then said after a beat had passed, "Well. Guess I'll stick around anyway."

Leia sat up a little straighter. "You will?"

"Yeah well, you know. I'm kind of . . ." He met her eyes, carefully. "I'm kind of in it now. With you."

"Oh," she said, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," he said back, not much louder.

Then the moment was broken - for now; she yawned, although she tried to suppress it. Reaching a decision, he got to his feet, and she asked sort of plaintively, "Where are you going?"

He patted her shoulder. "I'm going to help you stay awake by getting you a pillow and some blankets."

"Han."

"Hey, stay out here if you want. Let's just be, you know, warm."

"You're not clever!" she called after him.

By the time he got back, though, her eyes were closed. He hesitated without calling attention to himself for a while, but then sat back down beside her on the bench. "Hey," he said. "You awake?"

She didn't open her eyes, but said, "No thanks to you." Belying her tone though, her hand reached out blindly along the bench. It stopped when her fingertips were just touching his leg.

After another second's hesitation, he laid the pillow in his lap and tugged gently at her shoulder. "Come here, come on."

One eye opened halfway as she turned toward him. "What?"

"Come lie down."

The one eye stayed open, and the eyebrow lifted. But her fingertips were still brushing the stripe on his pants.

"Oh, come on."

There was a pause, then she closed her eyes and leaned toward him. Partly in disbelief that she was really allowing it, he settled her down on her side with her head on the pillow in his lap and arranged the blanket over her. "All right?" he asked softly, leaning over to brush loose strands of hair off her forehead.

A very small nod.

He spent a while deciding where to put his hands, ending up with one resting on her hip and one on her shoulder, over the blanket. She was asleep almost immediately, going relaxed and pliable, her breathing an even whisper. Han tilted his head back, after watching her sleep for some time, and closed his own eyes. Chewie would come get him in a few hours for his shift. He could rest with her until then.

A shuffling noise made him open his eyes. Chewie was in the lounge, getting himself a drink. He looked down at Han and Leia and made a soft wordless noise of approval.

"Yeah," Han said, feeling his hand curve around the shape of her shoulder. "She's a sweet little thing when she's asleep, isn't she."

Chewie's answering huff, as he returned to the cockpit, had only the edge of sarcasm.

 _So we're really going to do this._ Idly his fingers stroked the fabric of the blanket. Who had he ever been kidding? She had him; had had him for a while now.

He looked down at her sleeping face - long lashes, light freckles near the corners of her eyes, stubbornly loose wisps of hair escaping. Out of sight under the pillow, one of her hands was lightly clasping his knee. 

It wasn't that she was pretty, sleeping there like that, though she was always pretty. He just felt so - warm, so affectionate, looking down at her face. _Mine_ , he thought experimentally. And - as her fingers moved a bit on his knee in her sleep - wryly, one corner of his mouth pulling up: _hers_. Because yeah. It was done.

_All right, sweetheart. All right. Here we go._


	22. walking hand-in-hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow Hoth isn't quite as cold as Leia expected.

**Part 22: Hoth, 2 ABY**

 

Leia could not have said that her first actual view of the planet Hoth was what she'd expected - mostly because she couldn't seem to see anything at all. It was just white, drab gray-white, a blur of dim white in all directions and all around, in which Han could not possibly land without killing them all.

Her hand had a death grip on the back of the pilot's seat. She kind of wished it was his shoulder.

"Nervous?" he asked her as Chewie was entering their landing coordinates.

"What would I have to be nervous about?"

He laughed.

Leia was still wondering how _white_ could be so three-dimensional, but Han must have been able to see something she couldn't, because he murmured, "clearing the cloud line, visibility should open up."

There was maybe something, some small change from . . . white to white; from shadowy white depths to swirling white; but Han definitely had better eyes than she did, because he said, "There, see," and she didn't.

"See what?" she asked.

"That's a plain old run of the mill snowstorm," he said. What she _could_ see, inside the light of the cockpit, was that his hands were more relaxed on the controls. "This planet's upper atmosphere is a little tough, but this is just . . . weather."

A little tough. Han Solo for "landing with no visibility whatsoever".

How did anyone else land here without killing themselves?

He reached up to pat her hand where it clutched the seat back, and she was still thinking about that when something dark appeared ahead of them, which turned out to be the giant hangar doors opening. In another moment she could actually make out Alliance ground crew waving their illuminated wands at the ship. Well - she could see the wands, anyway. Then there was a rush of terror where they seemed to be aiming at a dim dark spot that was smaller than the ship, but in a flash they were through and the ship set down and she had a quick glimpse of the inside of a very busy, very white hangar before the viewport started to fog up.

"See?" Han said. "You're alive."

"Am I breathing?" she asked.

Chewie's chuckle sounded fond, and a giant furry paw mussed Leia's hair before he went to lower the ramp. She tried to smooth it down again into her braids as she followed him on slightly wobbly legs.

"You all right though, really?" Han asked as he caught up. "You're pretty white."

"Then I'll blend in," she said, coming to the bottom of the ramp and taking in the scene around her. Her first impression had been basically correct: a standard-issue Alliance hangar, just entirely white. The only spot of real color was on the X-Wings, where the pilots had painted the Alliance's symbol in splashes of red. Otherwise . . . the personnel milling about were uniformed in mostly gray and white. The equipment was gray. The astromechs were white. It was dizzying.

"It's the Empire," Han said from behind her.

Adrenaline sparked through her chest. "What?"

"No, sorry - no." He came to stand beside her, his arms crossed over his chest. "I mean, it looks like an Imperial base. That's why it feels creepy."

He was right, she realized. No one would actually mistake this for an Imperial base, of course - there were no stormtroopers, for one thing. No one was visibly carrying a blaster rifle, although many of the personnel in the hangar probably had a blaster of some kind holstered. More importantly, beings were milling about doing their jobs in a benign disorganization. There was none of the crisp efficiency with an edge of fear that characterized Imperial installations, just calm techs working on ships and cleaning up and carrying things around.

It wasn't confusable with an Imperial facility, but Han was right. For people who'd actually been inside one - like him and her - there was something automatically ominous about those gleaming white walls and white floors and white-clothed personnel. Like a memory of a nightmare.

But there was Carlist Rieekan coming toward them, his familiar friendly face a relief. To her knowledge, Rieekan had never even been in an Imperial base. Alderaan had been fortunate enough - until it had stopped being fortunate at all - to avoid having one imposed on them.

"Welcome at last," he said, holding out his hands to Leia. "I know you've been waiting much longer than you expected."

Leia tried not to let her face show that she'd have been happy waiting even longer. "Thank you," she said.

"How are the wampas?" Han asked cheerfully.

The look Rieekan gave him, as he began to lead them across the hangar, was genial. "They've been eager for your return," the general said. To Leia he added, "There haven't been any attacks in the last four months."

She nodded. "I've been reading the reports."

She'd been in a shivery, trembling state ever since watching Han land them into white nothing, but it was only now that she realized she was _cold_. She was dressed for the chilly environment of a Mon Calamari cruiser, but that was nothing to a base - an entire world - made completely of ice and snow.

Rieekan gave her a sympathetic look, noticing her shivering. "It'll be better once you're issued the proper equipment."

"I'm sure," she said, though she honestly had her doubts.

The warmth of Han's hand squeezed her shoulder, his arm around her for just a moment as they walked. In the cold of the hangar - with uncountable personnel watching - she was torn between wishing he'd kept it there and being glad that he hadn't.

"Of course," Rieekan continued, "Captain Solo, we'll also ensure that you and Chewbacca are properly outfitted on your return."

"Return?" Leia asked, looking up at Han.

"Yeah," Han said. She could have sworn the look he gave her was a bit sheepish. "We're only really here long enough to report in and pick up supplies, then we're heading to Onderon. To visit with your friend."

"My -?" Oh. The king. "Why are you going there?"

"Sounds like, among the emergency supplies they promised you, they've been stockpiling bacta. And you're in need of it here on a real 'emergency' basis." He bumped her shoulder purposefully with his. "Too many minor maimings?"

She had to swallow a smile. "Weren't you just listening? There hasn't been a wampa attack in months."

He grinned, but in sort of a tight way. "Yeah, but there is frostbite. Apparently kind of a lot of it."

They were entering a narrow passageway now, with a low enough ceiling that Han instinctively ducked his head even though he probably could have cleared it. Leia gave a little extra shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. The specter of wampas coming through the walls did feel a bit more real here in this tight, lonely space than out in the big, busy hangar.

But he was right. Again. That had been in the reports too, the uptick in beings needing medical treatment for exposure and frostbite. Not exactly a surprise, but it meant their precautions still weren't perfect. "You're leaving right away, though?"

"We did promise them lunch, first," Rieekan put in. "Of course you'll want to eat quickly. Around here, food only stays hot for about half a second."

"But anyone who likes ice cream is in real luck, I bet." Han glanced down at Leia. "Then, yeah, we're off again."

"You didn't mention that," she said, hoping the sinking feeling of disappointment didn't show.

"One thing at a time," he shrugged.

It wasn't a bad philosophy. It was _her_ philosophy, hard as she might find it to stick to. But still. He should have told her that he wouldn't be staying with her once they'd arrived on Hoth.

With them. _Them_.

Another passageway opened up at right angles, and Han started to turn down it. "Command center, right?" he asked.

"Yes," Rieekan replied. "Your Highness, I thought I'd show you where your quarters are and give you the highlights tour."

"Oh," she said, trying not to look too obviously at Han. She had a feeling she was failing.

"I need to find Dodonna," he said, jerking his head in the direction where the command center apparently lay.

_Pull yourself together, Leia_. Wanting to spend every possible moment with him before he took off again was not a valid reason to argue with Rieekan's agenda. "All right," she said. She gave Rieekan a (hopefully) sincere smile. "Lead on."

He turned to do just that, and as she followed, Han reached out and caught her hand. "You'll want to come by the ship before we leave," he said. "Make sure you didn't forget anything."

She looked into his eyes, but his expression was hard to make out in the dim passage. She really didn't know whether this was a pretense or not - or whether she hoped it was -

(she did)

\- but she'd take it. She nodded, and he released her hand and let her follow Rieekan.

Her packed belongings would be unloaded by the hangar crews and brought to her quarters, but she didn't think their arrival would improve the space much. It was . . . white, which was starting to surprise her less and less. At least the cot was the standard military green, which kept the room from looking too much like her cell on the Death Star. There were of course no windows, as they were deep inside the mountain. Where, supposedly, the walls were thick enough to keep the ceiling up and the wampas out. She supposed that was a good enough reason to sacrifice a view, though after months spent mostly in space, cabin fever was beginning to set in. A glimpse of the sky would be welcome. But of course, here the sky was just more cloudy white.

Han and Chewie were loading supplies by the time she made it back to the hangar. Chewie gave her a cheerful warble and patted her on the back before wheeling a dolly full of crates up the ramp into the _Falcon_ and leaving her alone with Han.

Feeling oddly nervous, she looked up at the viewport into the cockpit. "You got it clear," she said.

Han followed her gaze. "The viewport? Yeah, it clears itself after a few minutes. Never seen it fog up that fast anywhere else - the environmental controls have a hard time keeping up."

"I guess even the ships aren't used to this cold," she said. "I mean. Other than in space."

"And there's no water in space," he said, smiling. His familiar, casual amble had brought him closer to her. "So," he said.

She nodded, not knowing what he expected her to say.

He crossed his arms. "We should only be a couple days. Then we're here for - not necessarily for good, but for a while anyway. They want Chewie's help with the speeders, and Dodonna thinks I can work with the Pathfinders on stepping up the perimeter security. If we don't freeze to death in the process."

There was a promise somewhere in there, and she was trying not to focus on it. "What's wrong with the speeders?"

"Same thing as the beings, and the _Falcon_ , and pretty much everything else. Not used to the cold."

"Oh."

"So somebody gets miles out from base and the engine freezes, and he's stuck out there."

In a blizzard, probably. "That sounds bad."

"Yeah, I'm guessing that's where a good amount of your frostbite is coming from." He came another step closer. "So, you know, don't go out on a speeder while we're gone."

She nodded. "Good safety tip." She was still nervous - there was an odd tension in her stomach. Their partings had always been a little strange - strained, as if there were things going carefully unsaid - and more and more so lately, but even so this felt different. Something had changed, something was up.

Then again she'd felt that way at least twice a day since their mission to the Imperial lab. He hadn't kissed her again since then - well of course he'd only kissed her on the head, but it was the second time, and before Abrax I he'd never done it even once - but still. Still. Something . . .

"Well," he said, and then he was closing the distance and wrapping his arms around her. This wasn't completely unfamiliar, and her arms went naturally around his waist as she felt the chilled fabric of his coat against her cheek. _Why_ was a thought that took an extra moment to surface in her mind. This was - nobody was sad or in danger or had done anything particularly thoughtful or . . . they didn't hug just to say goodbye. That wasn't them.

Her and Luke, yes. Her and Han, though, no. Han didn't hug her just because he was going somewhere.

Only maybe now he did, because his embrace tightened and one hand covered the back of her head and he said quietly, "See you in a few days," and then he was releasing her. 

She knew she must have looked confused and a little stricken as she stepped back from him. He gave her shoulder another pat and then he was gone, up the ramp which began to raise while he was still near the top.

On autopilot she backed out of the way so the crew could start guiding him out toward the hangar doors, and soon she was looking at the back of the _Falcon_ as it departed, still mulling over what had changed. 

Luke found her at dinner, and as she hugged him happily she did notice how easy it was, how normal and free of tension. This she knew, it was long habit when they hadn't seen each other in a while. "You're all right?" she asked him. "No frostbite?"

"No," he said, holding up the fingers of his left hand in a particular way that he sometimes did when he was making a promise. It must have been a Tatooinian custom. "But - honestly, wow. And I used to think the desert at night was cold."

"I know." Her nose scrunched apologetically. "We're hoping that, among other things, will make the Empire less likely to come looking for us here."

"Well, I haven't been outside the base much except in my X-Wing," he said, settling into a seat beside her. "They want us to help with in-atmo recon, but the speeders aren't working."

"I heard," she said. "General Rieekan's reports mentioned some kind of indigenous fauna they might try?"

"Tauntauns," Luke said. "Yeah, they can survive the cold - at least during the day, they seem to have some way of nesting at night - and you can ride 'em, sort of, if you can get the saddle on, but it turns out that to have a bunch of tauntauns to ride, you have to _catch_ a bunch of tauntauns. Apparently the Rebel Alliance does not have a lot of animal wranglers."

Leia laughed. "So how many do we have? Tauntauns, not wranglers."

"About ten. Ground support says it's a 'work in progress.'"

"Wonderful." She pushed her dinner tray aside a bit (Rieekan was right; food really did go cold immediately). "Not seen any wampas?"

Luke folded his arms on the table and leaned toward her with the look that people get when they're about to ask for the straight-up truth and don't expect to receive it. "Tell me for real. Are there really 'wampas' -" He actually made quotes in the air with his fingers. "Or is that something they made up to mess with the newbies?"

"There are really wampas," she promised.

"Really? Because some of those engineers have a weird sense of humor."

"I don't doubt that," she said, picturing the kind of person who would have been able - and willing - to survive on Hoth for nearly two years while the base that made it (mostly) livable was still under construction. "But there are, truly, wampas. General Rieekan was very worried about them at first, the attacks are one of the reasons they took so long to finish construction."

Luke shook his head. "That's a first for me, you know? Well, mostly. On Tatooine there's nothing like - I mean, there's Sand People, and the Jawas'll rob anything they can get away with, and in the cities there are beings who'll kill you just for being in their way, but not _animals_. Nothing that just wants to eat you." He poked at a bread roll on his tray. "Except for the krayt dragons, but those are easy to avoid. And the womp rats, if there're a lot of them. Well, and the sarlacc, but that was easy to avoid, too. Just don't fall in the sarlacc."

Leia was certainly amassing a wealth of safety tips today.

"Sometimes," Luke went on, "you know, when we get to a new place. I picture what my aunt and uncle would have said about it. Not the cities. They knew all about Coruscant from the holos, and my aunt always watched _Nightlife_ and - what was that one, with the racers?"

"Oh." Leia had never gone in for that kind of pulpy nighttime holodrama herself, but in school she'd had friends who did. ". . . _Heartspeed_?"

"Yeah," Luke said, laughing. "It's funny - you wouldn't think she'd watch things like that, she never had time for anything, you know, frivolous. But that one - it's like she thought they were real. She'd sit every week - we got the new episodes a couple weeks after they ran in the Core, but we got 'em - and she'd say, 'that Korsunga, I don't know how she lets him get away with that.' Or 'isn't that awful, Roda's nephew on Kuat is sick again.' Like they were our neighbors."

He didn't really talk about his aunt and uncle very much. Leia gave him an encouraging smile.

"Anyway," he said. "Cities wouldn't have impressed them. But the jungles, you know, and those huge lakes -"

The "huge lakes" had all been pretty small, actually. But when you're so used to the desert that the sight of a bathtub shocks you speechless . . .

"And this," Luke concluded, waving his hand around at the (of course) white walls of the mess hall. "A whole world of ice."

"It's a whole world of water, when you think about it," Leia said. "Just frozen."

He blinked. "Yeah. They'd never believe it. I'd've - you know, if I'd gone to the Academy, I'd've written them, called. Sent holos."

His hand was resting on the table. Leia gently put hers over it.

"I always thought I'd go to the Academy," Luke said. Talking about his family seemed to have removed some kind of stopper on the past. "Can you imagine what I would have - I might still be there. One of them, an Imperial. We didn't know, you know? No government ever did anything about the slavers, or the raiders, or the Hutts - I mean, that's what everybody would say. The Empire never really bothered us. We didn't know . . . what they were like. I would have signed up first chance I got. Then what?"

Leia squeezed his hand. "Your friend left," she reminded him.

"Biggs." Luke looked down for a moment, even more somber, but he recovered. "Yeah. Maybe we'd have left together."

"Lots of people did." And even though he hadn't done it for the purpose of defecting to the rebellion . . . "Han did."

"I wonder that," Luke said thoughtfully. "I wonder - I never got a chance to really ask Biggs why. Why he left. But I know why Han did."

By now Leia did, too, though the story had come in drips and drabs and obscure comments over these nearly three years. She'd put it together.

"Skywalker is a slave name," Luke said, and it seemed so out of the blue that she stared for a moment. "So I don't know."

She wasn't following his logic. "You don't know what?"

"I don't like slavery," he said, "obviously, but I could never do anything about it at home. It was normal. My father bought himself free - that's one of the only things they ever said about him. My uncle's father bought my grandmother and freed her."

"Your uncle's father?" she asked, tamping down her response to Luke casually talking about a woman being _bought_ as if it were normal.

"My father and my uncle were stepbrothers. My uncle barely knew my father really, they were grown up by the time their parents married each other."

She'd never known that. So he hadn't been raised by blood relatives any more than she had.

"So I wonder," Luke said. "If I'd seen the Empire had slaves. Would that have been enough to make me leave - or would I just have thought, that's a shame, but that's the way it is." He gave her a wry twist of a smile. "Maybe Han's just that much better than I am."

"I'm not sure I'd worry about that," she said, returning the smile. 

"Hey, is he here?"

"He and Chewie went to Onderon," she said, trying as hard as she could to keep her tone casual. "They'll be back in a few days."

"Oh, what for?"

"Bacta." Now she schooled her face into a deliberately blank expression as she looked at Luke. "For all the wampa attacks."

 

Han did come back - not that she'd doubted him - and he came back in the time she'd expected. She went to meet his ship, and when he disembarked he looked around, as if looking for someone; and when he spotted her, his face broke into a smile, he came right over, and he put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her close to him for a moment. So yes. It seemed this was what they were doing now.

"How's my friend the king?" she asked, striving for normalcy.

He laughed. "I didn't actually meet him. Guess he doesn't handle every single bit of his planet's business in person, can you believe that?"

She smiled up at him. "But you do have the bacta?" There were two new frostbite cases waiting in the medical unit; the result of a prolonged tauntaun roundup.

"Yeah, come see," he said, and he took her hand. And held it the whole way into the ship and back to the cargo bay. By the time they got there, she wasn't sure if the leaping in her chest was because of the _enormous_ quantity - really, shockingly so - of bacta canisters he'd acquired, or because of his hand in hers.

"Oh my," she said, staring at a wall of canisters.

He tightened his grip on her hand (because holding hands was now something they did, too), and murmured, "The smuggling compartments are full, too," as if it were something romantic.

Who was she kidding. It was.

He was . . .

He turned up outside her quarters and walked her to dinner, dropping her hand, without her having to raise the subject, before they actually saw anyone else.

If he was going offworld he hugged her before he left. The one time it was expected to be a mission of more than a week's duration, he held her seriously by the upper arms and gave her a detailed estimate of how long he expected each facet of the job to take. Then he kissed her forehead.

The dinners he'd occasionally prepare for all of them, Chewie and Luke included, on the _Falcon_ became that little bit more elaborate, just enough that she noticed; and now included him always sitting next to her with his hand constantly touching her back, her shoulder, her arm.

She was so befuddled by all this that, despite all the evidence, it took her weeks to realize that he was _courting_ her.

In her defense, he was away a lot.

Also, as she'd suspected months ago back on Abrax I, he clearly had no more idea of how it was supposed to go than she did.

And also, she'd never have expected an overture from him to be so . . . _chaste_. For one thing, the galaxy at large had given her the impression that men unconstrained by rules and tradition did not have the patience to move this slowly. For another - everything she knew about Han had always suggested that it would go one of two ways. Either he would do something grand - invite her onto his ship for a private dinner with wine and candles, as she'd momentarily thought he was doing on Abrax I - or one day he'd just kiss her and that would be that. In her imagination, what came after the kissing was a rather immediate expectation that she'd join him in his bunk.

Not . . . this. Whatever this was that he thought he was doing.

Though she couldn't deny that it gave her time to get over some of her nerves, and that once she did, it all started to seem very - sweet. Not old-fashioned or formal, because somehow he never managed to give the impression that he was restraining himself or conforming to some kind of rule. He just seemed honestly delighted to take Leia's hand; he seemed to feel obligated, in a sort of touching way, to reassure her when he was leaving. It was just all so sincere.

He'd come back from some cargo run or other, and he'd jog down the ramp and take her hand, and he'd ask what had been going on, or how she was. And she'd look up at him, smiling with only her eyes, and say, "tauntauns snore," or "my feet are always cold here." And he'd laugh and throw his arm around her shoulders, or brush a hand over her hair, and then they'd separate a little and walk across the hangar side by side like ordinary colleagues. But if there was no one in the passage, he'd reach for her hand again.

When she took Luke's hand, she usually did it with a feeling of giving - reassurance, comfort, whatever. When Han took her hand, she'd always felt more a sense of receiving. As if all this that he was doing was just for her benefit, to bring her along to where he was. Until she looked up at his face one time, as they were walking through the passages, and saw him looking down at her with an expression of such open, glowing happiness that it made him look as young as Luke.

_Oh_ , she thought, curling her fingers a bit tighter around his. _Oh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting note! I'm trying to keep to a Friday schedule - but last week, there was, you know, some stuff going on; and this Friday I'll be in a conference all day, so enjoy this chapter which is both a week late and a day early.


	23. walking it back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some bounty hunters on Ord Mantell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for nongraphic mention of attempted assault.

**Part 23: Ord Mantell and Hoth, 3 ABY**

 

The ironic thing was, he really wasn't paying enough attention to his surroundings. He was thoroughly distracted. If anyone had wanted to target him - this would have been the time.

He was thinking about Leia. Not that this was a rare thing, these days. But she'd given him something extra to think about. When he'd left - when he'd looked for her before taking off on this mission - she'd reached for him. _She'd_ reached for _him_ , first; her arms wrapping around his waist, her head resting against him. Then she'd pulled back just a little, and looked up at him with that sweet half-smile. Like she wanted him to kiss her, and for a second he felt like he might pass out if he didn't.

He didn't (kiss her, though he didn't pass out either), because - well, it was probably stupid. But he didn't want to kiss her when he was leaving. Some superstitious part of him didn't like the idea. Better to do it when he was returning.

Also, he was very interested in finding out what came after kissing her. And not at all interested in the answer being "then I get on the ship and fly away".

She had this new smile lately - not that he hadn't seen her smile before, in all kinds of ways, but this one was different. It wasn't really . . . _sultry_ , exactly, but maybe the smallest bit? Almost like she was trying it out.

It had been her birthday a few days before he left for Ord Mantell. Hers and Luke's both, they were twenty-three now. Han hadn't missed this one, and - possibly because Han was there, or maybe he'd just matured - this time Luke didn't get so drunk that he started trying to do bizarre things with the Force. But Leia . . .

Leia had been willing to wander off from what she kept calling "Luke's party" (thrown by the pilots, so maybe fair enough), her fingers entwined with Han's once they were out of view. They were both wearing gloves of course, since the hangar in that horror of a base was never warmer than freezing, but it was still nice. He should have kissed her then - he'd definitely wanted to -

\- he always wanted to, but then in particular -

\- but the guys had given her some of that lethal stuff they called gin (which was frankly an insult to gin) and that stopped him. She wasn't _drunk_ , but she was loose-limbed and laughing, and he didn't want . . .

It would be nice to be able to say he didn't want to take advantage. And really - if he asked himself, _do you want to take advantage of this girl?_ obviously the answer was no. If he was that kind of guy he'd have tried it long before now. But that wasn't exactly what stopped him though - he just wanted to know, if he kissed her and she accepted it and kissed him back - he'd want to know for sure that she really _wanted_ it. It was as much - he had to admit - about feeling wanted as it was about making sure she knew what she was doing.

He wasn't a terrible guy, but he wasn't perfect.

And Leia was - Leia. She retreated back into her shell sometimes, and he didn't want her to have any kind of excuse she could make, why their first kiss hadn't been real.

It would not be in the middle of chaos, he would not be going anywhere, and they'd both be stone cold sober.

And, you know. Soon.

So he was understandably distracted, as he maneuvered through Ord Mantell City, as he instinctively gave the known Black Sun hangouts a wide berth (along with a few other shady areas that looked as though the syndicates had settled in), as he followed the strategically placed signals that would lead him to the tiny Alliance cell. Normally he'd be aware if someone was following him - normally he'd be _looking_ , but even if not, his scalp would be prickling, the back of his neck tingling, his gut telling him that something was wrong even as his fingers reflexively brushed the grip of his blaster.

But he was off his game, and it was the cold touch of a blaster on the back of his neck that alerted him. Which, as he was well aware, was usually kind of too late to realize you were in trouble.

They hadn't shot yet though, which meant either they wanted him alive or they wanted to negotiate. He slowly raised his hands.

"Turn around," barked a deep, apparently female voice.

He did so, slowly; and almost relaxed when he recognized his assailant. He carefully gave the appearance of having relaxed anyway, as a courtesy. "Vella," he said, infusing some almost-sincere pleasure into his voice.

"Idiot," she said. She slipped her blaster into its holster, and Han's adrenaline level went down another notch. "Come drink with me."

"Uh." He very carefully did not look up at the smeary white circle chalked on the wall above his head, which was supposed to be his next marker. "Not that I'm not always happy to see you, but I'm kind of in the middle of a job."

"You really need to drink with me," she said; and added, her tone foreboding, "and you need to get off the street."

Han knew a warning when he heard it, especially when it came from someone like Vella. Her reputation was one of principle and relative honesty, but nevertheless she was what she was. A bounty hunter. A good one.

"Got someplace in mind?" he asked.

She jerked her head to the left, and he followed the direction with his eyes. "Berny's?" he said. "I think I got food poisoning there once."

"So don't eat. The 'fish' is all savrip anyway."

Gagging a little, Han followed her across the street to the dusty little dive. Of course, this being Ord Mantell, no one had noticed him being apparently abducted.

Even when people didn't recognize her as a bounty hunter, Vella drew attention. Something about her confident walk, the way she used every inch - and she was tall and broad-shouldered, so there were a lot of inches - to carve space for herself. But she was just as good at communicating to onlookers that they should look somewhere else, and nervous eyes darted away from her and Han as they settled into a dark booth.

"Been hearing rumors about you," she said, lifting one hand to signal the bartender.

"You know what rumors are worth."

"Uh-huh." She studied him, her face enigmatic. "You should be more aware of your surroundings. I got the impression that princess of yours would like to keep you around."

Now he was paying attention. But he grinned and said, "Don't talk about Chewie that way, it'll hurt his macho pride."

"Uh-huh."

Glasses appeared in front of both of them. Han squinted at his. "What'd you order?"

"Alcohol."

Almost straight, by the smell of it. He brought the glass to his mouth and barely dipped his upper lip into it, to keep up appearances.

Vella was watching him, not moving.

"So who do you know?" he asked casually, cheerfully.

"Oh, lots of people. I wouldn't worry about looking for them, they're all true believers actually. My friends have always been a little rebellious."

In other words, her spies weren't actually sabotaging the rebellion; just reporting to her. Great? He lifted his glass again and tried not to make a face. "So you think you know something I don't."

"I know all kinds of things you don't." Slowly, with an appearance of having all the time in the world, she wrapped long dark fingers around her glass. "For instance, I know your princess has had two soldiers very quietly court-martialed for trying to attack her."

Han blinked. "Sorry. No way."

"One was drunk at a party and probably didn't even realize who she was when he tried pinning her up against an X-Wing. The court martial let him off easy, sent him to Binaros." Vella took a calm sip from her drink. "The other one was waiting outside her quarters. You'd wonder how he ever thought he'd get away with it, but maybe he thought she'd be too ashamed to tell anyone. Lucky for her she had no shame about kicking him in the balls and stunning him."

Han just shook his head. She'd completely overplayed her hand. "No way this happens and I don't hear about it."

"No one heard about it, that's what _quietly_ means. Unless they sat on the court martial. Like my friend." She grinned. "Tough girl, your princess. Born into the wrong calling."

Actually they had no idea what Leia had been born into, but that was irrelevant because Han still wasn't ready to buy this. "She'd have told me if something like that happened."

"Would she?"

_No_. Because she believed in "justice", and the guy wouldn't have lived to be court-martialed. "Did you drag me in here to tell me that?"

"I dragged you in here as a courtesy, because you and I have helped each other out in the past." Vella was suddenly dead serious. "You've got a big problem with the bounty hunters. Jabba's upped your bounty -"

"I know."

"Even for a kill," she said. "It's so high even a rank amateur might shoot you dead on sight. The professionals want you alive because it's even higher if Jabba gets to watch his pets do the job. And it's worse than just that . . ."

Han was already taken aback - he'd known it was bad, but this was . . . "How much worse?"

"Vader worse. He's offered a second payment from the Empire for anyone who tracks you."

The mention of Vader made Han's blood run cold, but he was also confused. "Vader's helping Jabba?"

"No," Vella said, snorting. "Vader hates the Hutts, everyone knows that."

"They do?"

"Vader knows you're working with the Alliance. Bounty hunter finds you, they find the rebels, they tip off Vader. How much do you think someone would get paid for you, and the princess, and the entire Alliance leadership?"

"I'm not that easy to track," Han said, though he was feeling faint.

"Hope you're willing to bet your life on that," Vella said. "And everybody else's."

 

By the time he got back to the _Falcon_ , Chewie was half frantic and pacing in alert agitation. Which was good, because that was how he managed to shoot the Lasat before Han even saw him.

Han spun around staring when Chewie fired, just in time to see the Lasat drop his souped-up rapidfire blaster as he fell. Han barely wasted time swearing before he bounded up the ramp.

"Wonder if she knew he was here in particular," he mumbled to himself. "Chewie, let's get out of here, fast."

Chewie's question as they took off was a Wookiee vocalization that didn't really translate into actual words, but the gist of its meaning was _what the hell is wrong_. "The rebels?" he then asked.

Han shook his head. "No, I found them, they were fine. Got the info. But I ran into Vella."

"She was working with that -" Another Wookiee sound that didn't exactly translate to a word, although pick an expletive and it would work.

"No, she warned me - about him or about everybody, I don't know. We've got big problems."

"Is it Jabba?"

"Yeah," Han said shortly.

"We're going to have to deal with it."

"Yeah."

 

Leia was waiting when they landed, her face so hopeful that Han almost couldn't stand it. He slipped an arm around her waist, just for a moment, but wouldn't let himself stall any longer. He couldn't change his mind this time. "Come with me," he said to her quietly. "We've got to talk."

"Did something happen?" she asked, looking up at him in alarm. "Are you all right?"

"We're fine, we're both fine, just - just come with me."

He led her onto the ship, sending Chewie off with a muttered, "Give us a while, would you?" Chewie was probably eager to find some dinner anyway; the flight had been long.

Han faced Leia in the lounge, leaning against the bulkhead, arms folded so he wouldn't reach out to her. Anything that might make him waver was dangerous. She cautiously matched his posture, except for her chin tilted up so she could look him in the eye. "What is it?" she asked.

"I ran into a bounty hunter - an old, ah, acquaintance. She and I did a couple jobs together back in the day."

Leia was looking wary, and with a little jolt he realized it was for the wrong reason.

"She wanted to warn me," he said hastily. "She - well, she wouldn't bring me in herself; turning on an associate would go against her code. But she told me -" He paused and looked her firmly in the eye. There could be no talking around this. "Jabba's put out a death mark. He's offering so much even for recognizable pieces of my dead body that every bounty hunter in the galaxy's looking for me. And -"

He cut himself off abruptly. It was bad enough as it was, and - well, Vader. Vader was associated with all the worst things that had ever happened to Leia. Did he really want to scare her with that?

"All right," she said slowly. "All right, so - we need to take different precautions. What would that look like?"

"You're not . . ." He shook his head, wincing. "There's more. Vader's offering extra for anyone who finds me."

Leia looked as confused as he'd been. "What does Vader want with you?"

"To follow me." He fought to keep his expression from gentling - there was no room for that. "To find the Alliance. They know I can lead them to you. They know -" Did, really, did the Empire know as much as Vella? He couldn't rule it out, although he doubted Vella herself would have given them the intel. "They know a lot."

She nodded - again, slowly. When she spoke, it was not what he was expecting (or what he'd hoped - not that he could exactly identify what he was hoping for). "We have that problem with Mon Mothma, obviously. Since the Senate disbanded. And me, and Admiral Ackbar - Madine, because he defected. Any of us that are recognizable. We've had to pull in over the last few years, be more careful about where we're going." She gave him a little, humorless smile. "Luke's bounty is higher than mine, I hear, but they don't know what he looks like."

"Sweetheart . . ." He hadn't really meant to say that. It slipped out.

"We manage," she said.

"This isn't about me keeping my head down," he burst out, more vehemently than he intended. "It's - unless you want to keep me grounded here on your base, and I'm no good to anybody that way."

For what it was worth he recognized his mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but it wasn't fast enough to prevent the wounded look from flashing momentarily across Leia's face.

His problem was - they were so good at fighting when they were both riled up, but he wasn't good at deliberately wounding her when it wasn't in self-defense. And he might have to now.

"I have to take care of this," he said. "Don't you see - as long as Jabba's mark is on my head, it's not safe anywhere."

Something about that wounded expression was starting to harden. "You said -"

"I said a lot of things," he said. "And at the time I thought I could - promise something. But I _have to go_."

As he watched her expression freeze over, it was suddenly so clear to him what he wanted. He needed her to let him go, yeah. There was no way around that. But. _Ask me to come back. Please._

Her eyes were focused on his folded arms. She stood in silence for a long time and he was silent too, waiting.

_I will. I will come back if I can. If you say you want me to._

Leia finally gave her head a little shake, and looked back up at him. "This isn't how - we _deal_ with things, we work them out. You think you're the first Alliance member to have a - a legal problem?"

"I'm not an Alliance member!" 

That, also, came out a lot more angrily than he'd meant it to. There was a long, quiet pause.

"No," Leia said finally. "Thank you for reminding me."

He closed his eyes. "Leia."

For once her name didn't work its magic. When he looked at her again, her face was hard. "I have to go speak with General Rieekan," she said, and turned on her heel to leave the lounge.

"We . . ." Rather than call after her, he followed. "Can we finish talking about this? Come to some kind of -"

She paused just long enough to look back over her shoulder. "We'll talk when you've decided whether you're with us or not."

He swore under his breath as he watched her stride away. That had . . . not gone well.

What had he expected? That she'd fall into his arms, tell him to be careful, beg him to come back?

The thing was, she'd wanted to. Over three years and a bit - he knew her every expression. He recognized her hurt, but he also knew what she looked like when she wanted comfort. 

But - as he also knew - Leia retreated. She had her shell, her armor, and she was real good at putting it on when she wanted to hide from something. She'd wanted to be held and comforted and told that he really wanted to stay, that he hated leaving, that he'd come back. She wanted that but was too hurt to ask for it, so she hardened herself instead.

It should have been for the best. Make it easier for him to go. But the voice in the back of his mind pointed out that he was a hypocrite, because he also wanted her warmth and her comfort before he left, and he hadn't asked for it either. He'd chosen to harden himself in advance. 

He shoved that voice down, telling himself it wouldn't have made a difference. Leia was who she was - stubborn. 

_She only wants you if you're willing to fall in line_ , said another part of his mind, and he listened to that one because it was easier to be angry. Because she'd accepted his attention without ever saying - admitting - _anything_. Because she'd shut him down as soon as she realized he was determined to go and handle his own problems. Because the only real sin in Leia's world was not being loyal to the Alliance, and he refused to enlist.

_Fine then,_ he told himself. _That makes things easier._


	24. lost wanderers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very long night on Hoth.

**Part 24: Hoth, 3 ABY**

One of the lessons of this war: you were never so mad at someone that you wanted them locked out at night on Hoth.

Probably that was a lesson of every war. Not to fight with people when they might go out on a raid or an attack at any time. Somehow in more than three years of war Leia hadn't managed to learn this until now.

None of this made her feel any less nauseous.

When the doors had slammed shut, she'd tried to think only of Luke, as a way of avoiding the sick, guilty knot that was rising in her stomach. At least she had nothing to feel guilty about with respect to him. They'd had lunch together, before he and Han went out on patrol. She'd made a hasty exit from the mess when Han came in looking for Luke, but she'd left Luke on good terms. She'd patted his shoulder and he'd given her that awkward smile that meant he wished she and Han would get along. But that was no reason to feel guilty about _Luke_.

That was when the doors first closed. By an hour later, when she was leaning against Luke's X-Wing and trying not to hyperventilate or throw up, things looked different.

"I sent the droids to Tatooine," she said to Chewie, who was sitting on the cold floor beside her feet, in a miserable huddle.

He responded with a half-hearted inquisitive warble.

"I put the plans in R2 and I sent them to find General Kenobi," she said. The words came out in a flat, absent tone as she stared at the hangar floor. "Because getting him, and the plans, to the rebellion was all that mattered. Luke's aunt and uncle were killed because the stormtroopers tracked the droids to their farm."

A quiet rumble from Chewie.

"He's here because of me," she said. "In every respect. He left Tatooine with General Kenobi because his aunt and uncle were dead. They're dead because I sent my droids to Tatooine. He stayed and joined the rebellion because he met me. He's on this world in the first place because of me."

This time what Chewie said almost meant something to her - the sounds were recognizable as they flowed over her ears, but it didn't resolve into meaning. "Sorry?" she said.

He repeated himself, slowly. This time she caught something about the Force, and Kenobi.

"The Force brought the droids to Luke so he would meet up with General Kenobi?" she guessed.

He nodded and added something about . . . "planned," while giving her ankle a pat.

"I believe in the Force," she said, reflex for a child of Alderaan. "I . . . used to believe the Being had a plan. Han -" She cast a guilty look down at Chewie, but he was listening with a curious air. "Han teased me once, he said only a place like Alderaan could have come up with a peaceful all-powerful Being. He said the rest of the galaxy needed their gods to have a temper, because it was the only thing that could explain their lives."

A tiny, sad chuckle from Chewie.

"He's right I guess. It's easy to have a peaceful god when your people are safe." She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. "When they're not, you want to know why."

Chewie said something that might have been "it isn't always someone's fault." Or else "it isn't your fault." She was at least fairly sure she'd caught a negative, so it wasn't "it _is_ your fault."

She wanted to know if Han had said anything before he went out looking for Luke, but then again she was sort of afraid to find out. She didn't know what would be worse - if he'd been mad at her, or if he'd said "I'm going out there to show Leia I'm sorry and make up with her." The second thing was . . . very unlikely, considering it was Han. But it still might have been something like that.

To stop herself from asking, she kept rambling on about religion instead. "You know what I wondered? When - when we were on Yavin I lit candles for my parents, and my friends, and . . . when I started to run out of candles I just lit one more, to be for everyone else. But I wondered if the Being even still existed.

"Which is stupid, I know, because we believe the Being still watches over us and hears us when we leave Alderaan, no matter how far away we are. Or - believed. And it's not as if the Being _lives_ somewhere. My tutor would have given me a pretty strange look if I'd suggested the Being was only on Alderaan, like a statue in a temple.

"For that matter we think - we were taught there was only one Being, and other beings just knew it by different names. Not as if the Being were a personal god just for Alderaan. Still. It just seems like if everything else is gone . . ."

She turned her head to look at Chewie, who was listening quietly.

"My tutor is alive, you know," she said. "At least, probably. He and his wife always took a trip to Naboo that time of year. They were probably there when - they're probably still there. Unless he was arrested."

Now Chewie rumbled something soft. He was telling her she should go and try to sleep.

She shook her head. "Someone has to stay. What if they come back and - and bang on the doors? Or trip the proximity alarm? If they want to be let back in during the night - I have to be here."

A short growl. Chewie would be there.

"I know," she said. "But if you told them to open the doors they might not listen."

_Tired. Ship. Wake. Come. If._ He was telling her, she thought, to go and sleep on the _Falcon_ , that he would wake her if anything happened.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, though she was exhausted. The angry worry in her belly would never let her fall asleep. It was keeping her heart racing even as her eyelids drooped.

_Angry. If. If-I-let_. She squeezed her eyes shut to concentrate on Chewie's sounds. _He'll be angry,_ she thought, piecing thoughts together with educated guesses. _If I let you wear yourself out._ "I look forward to that," she said.

Her eyes still closed, she tipped her head back against the X-Wing's landing gear and thought about at least sitting down. She wouldn't fall asleep - well, she definitely wouldn't fall asleep on the icy floor, not until the cold seeped all the way up through her legs and freezing set in - but even so, there was no way she could sleep, not with Luke and Han . . . not when Luke and Han might not come back . . .

Horrified, she pressed her fingertips against her closed eyes as if that would hold the tears in. Her nose burned; her throat ached. _This is for your quarters alone, not the middle of the hangar_ she told herself, but she felt so _alone_ that the mere thought of the word made it worse. She sniffled, feeling pathetic, her hands over her face, and hoped Chewie hadn't noticed.

_Crying over a man who's had a foot out the door since the moment he arrived._

A man who'd thrown her feelings for him in her face right after announcing that he was leaving. Feelings he'd purposely - it _had_ to have been - purposely encouraged over the last weeks, only to tell her that one conversation with a bounty hunter had changed his mind.

She could kill him. If Hoth didn't.

"Your Highness?"

She looked up to see Wedge Antilles, his helmet dangling from one hand. It was good, she thought, that he didn't seem comfortable with calling her "Leia" in public places with other personnel. The sound of her first name in a sympathetic voice might set her crying again.

Wedge looked a combination of encouraging and dejected. "The storm's forecast to end by morning. We'll be out there looking at first light - by air, not on tauntauns. We'll find them."

_But will they be alive, after a night in this storm?_ The dark morbid thoughts that she'd been trying to avoid rolled on a steady path. If they were dead, they wouldn't be moving. Falling snow would cover them. They'd never be found; there was no thaw on Hoth.

They might not even be together. Her mental picture of two bodies huddled under a layer of snow was predicated on the idea that Han would even find Luke at all. They might be dead alone, separate, two smaller needles in a big frozen haystack.

But Luke was Wedge's squadron leader, and Wedge must be almost as stricken as she was. She forced a smile and nodded.

"Thank you," she said. "I know you'll do everything you can."

It was a long, long night.

Around oh-three hundred Leia was startled - she must have slipped into a bit of a doze, despite her agitation - by a loud banging. Three loud bangs, evenly spaced. She wasn't the only one to wonder - all over the hangar, wherever the night shift crewmen were standing, heads turned toward the doors. Chewie and Leia exchanged looks.

Two more bangs.

"It's the satellite array," said a crewman, moving hurriedly across the hangar. He was looking at a datapad in his hands. "One of them's disconnected. It must have slipped off the roof, and the wind . . ."

Even though there was nothing to see, Leia looked toward the hangar doors, picturing a satellite hanging there by its cords.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"We won't be able to get anyone up there to fix it until morning," the crewman said.

Leia nodded. "Are the other dishes still functioning? Are we missing any coverage?"

"The north view isn't great, but it wasn't great before. The storm."

Leia nodded again, the crewman went back to his business, and it went back to being a long, cold night. Intermittently disturbed by the satellite array banging against the hangar doors like a ghostly visitor.

By the time Wedge and the other Rogues appeared in the morning, Leia's eyes were dry and burning and she felt as if her knees might give out. When the enormous doors were opened she squinted into the blinding light of a sunrise reflecting off Hoth's ice and snow, half expecting to see Han and Luke out there waiting patiently. Of course there was nothing there but a dangling satellite dish bashed half to bits.

Chewie was standing next to Leia as the pilots departed, a tall, anxious anchor for her own fear and worry. "They'll have made it," he said, or something very like that. "They are smart, for humans. And the desert is very cold."

She'd thought of that - that nights in a desert were freezing on a lot of worlds. Maybe Tatooine was one of them. Maybe Luke knew more about what he was doing than she'd thought.

"Does it ever get very cold on Kashyyyk?" she asked.

From Chewie's tone, she thought what he'd said was "not this cold."

"Nothing is this cold," she agreed.

Time went by - maybe almost an hour, although it felt like more. Every now and then a radio would crackle and she'd catch most of a report: "Visibility is good, the storm passed over." "Nothing over the south ridge." "Got some kind of tracks down there, fresh this morning, but they're not human or tauntaun." Some of the reports she couldn't make out from her distance, but she couldn't stand to move from her position next to Chewie and the _Falcon_. 

Suddenly there was a roar from the crewmen gathered around the communications equipment. One turned around to call to Leia, "They found them! Senesca found them!"

Leia reached out and clutched at Chewie's fur. "Alive?" she asked.

A tech with half of a headset clutched against one ear replied, "He says Solo's waving him in, so . . ."

Another jubilant roar.

Leia slumped back against the _Falcon_ 's hull. One, at least. _Come on, Luke._

Rogue Two's radio must have been especially staticky, or else maybe he'd just gotten that far from base; but Leia couldn't make out much of what she was hearing. She had to wait for someone with a headset to report.

"He's landing," the tech reported. "Says he sees Solo and a shelter."

That seemed encouraging.

"He's in range of Solo's comm now. He says - Solo says - Skywalker's going to need a med team."

For a moment Leia was confused about the physical flooding of relief through her body. That should have been alarming news - indeed, the tech reporting it looked alarmed - Luke was hurt, or frozen, or . . .

And yes, now that she was thinking about it, she was worried. How bad was it? People who got bad enough frostbite lost fingers and toes, noses, limbs. He could be in terrible shape.

But she identified that first relief response - her body had realized before she consciously thought it; you only need a medical team for someone who's _alive_. Whatever condition Luke was in, he'd survived the night.

"What's his condition?" a tech asked as if he'd pulled the words directly from Leia's mind.

It was Han who answered, and at the sound of his voice - even crackly and distorted, shouting over the radio - her knees really did almost buckle. He was clearer than Senesca had been, probably _because_ he was shouting. "He's not great," Han said. "I think something attacked him out here - he's a little beat up and it's not from the snow. No sign of his tauntaun. He was delirious when I found him. No tracks but his, but the snow was falling pretty steady by then."

"Is he awake now?" Leia asked. The tech relayed the question.

"No, he's been out for a while. His breathing seems all right and all, but he was out there in that ice for who knows how long."

Leia nodded to herself, her fingers knitting together in a clasped fist in front of her mouth. Alive and breathing. And she doubted even Han's definition of "a little beat up" included limbs blackened with frostbite.

"Zev's getting him loaded up now," Han's voice continued. "ETA twenty minutes."

The medical team rushed into the hangar not long thereafter, bearing the modified hoverstretcher with warming equipment attached that had apparently been a common sight in earlier days on the Hoth base. Lately it was less common, fortunately, for someone to be stuck out in the wilderness long enough to need treatment for hypothermia, but it did happen.

Most of the other search flights, called back in once the missing men had been found, landed before Rogue Two coasted in. Though all of Leia's focus was on that one anticipated arrival, she managed to remember to thank each pilot for going out to search. Wedge lingered with her after disembarking from his ship, waiting to see Luke's condition for himself.

The medical personnel rushed Rogue Two as soon as it came to a stop. The first head to appear from the ship was too shrouded in cold weather gear to be recognizable, but it was not wearing a pilot's helmet or uniform. Leia stared, anxious for any real sight of Han's face.

He helped guide the hoverstretcher right up to the opening of the hatch, and Leia ran closer as she saw another head and shoulders emerge, these tightly wrapped in a combination of cold weather gear, shock blankets, and some other fabric Leia couldn't identify. This figure did not appear to be conscious; Han and Zev Senesca - visible now in his bright flight suit - were lifting him out and onto the stretcher.

Leia reached the side of the stretcher just as it descended back to waist-level for those standing on the ground. In the background she was aware of Han and Senesca climbing down from the cockpit - Han maybe a bit gingerly - but she was busy staring at Luke.

He didn't seem to be conscious. She could see what Han meant - the scratches on his face were deep, and worse, something seemed to have broken his nose. That hadn't happened because of the storm, unless he'd somehow hurt himself by falling off his tauntaun.

The stretcher was holding still while medical personnel arranged the warming equipment around him and assessed his condition. "Temperature isn't bad," a doctor muttered close to Leia. "Low, but not dangerous."

"He warmed up all right once I got him into the shelter." Han's voice, low and rumbling and a bit scratchy, right over Leia's shoulder. "He was cold to the touch everywhere I checked, at first."

There was a small commotion behind her - Chewie greeting Han - but Leia was still looking Luke over. She was anxious about his extremities, which were too bundled up for her to see anything. At least his face, battered as it was, didn't look frostbitten. "How is he?" she asked the nearest doctor.

"His vitals are encouraging," the man replied. "We'll get his temperature back up and then see what needs bacta. Ah - Your Highness . . ."

Leia realized she was holding onto the stretcher, and that they were unwilling to move it without her consent. She nodded and let go.

As Luke was taken off to medical bay, Wedge following the crowd to keep an eye on his commander, she turned to look at Han for the first time. She meant to examine his face, see if he had any visible injuries; but he'd come closer than she realized, probably bending over to look at Luke as well, and she actually ran right into his chest. Before she could really straighten up, one of his arms was around her, holding her in place. He probably thought she'd come to hug him on purpose.

Which was mortifying, but no more mortifying than the fact that for the moment she wasn't pulling away. His coat was freezing against her face and it was uncomfortable, but his smell was so familiar and she was so tired and somehow she'd ended up with the fabric of his coat fisted in her hand.

Chewie was saying something, something about her waiting all night.

She was _not_ crying.

"All right, it's all right," Han said softly. "Hey, he's going to be fine."

She should have said something - she should have thanked him, for going out to get Luke, who was sounding like he definitely would have died if Han hadn't found him; she meant to say all this, but her throat was too thick.

Then Han said something quiet to Chewie about putting it off a day, and she remembered where they'd been the day before.

She drew herself up and pulled back out of the circle of his arm. "Thank you for finding him," she said, her tone as formal as she could make it. "If you'll excuse me." Then she turned and strode briskly away, not waiting to see the look on his face, only praying that her knees would continue to hold her up.

She didn't really mean to go back to her quarters, but that was where her feet took her. She collapsed onto her cot and didn't have to worry about trying not to cry, because she was asleep in seconds.


	25. liftoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody finally gets the hell out of Hoth.

**Part 25: Hoth, Anoat system, 3 ABY**

 

He really did mean to leave.

The _Falcon_ couldn't help this time - they could maybe draw some fire, shoot back a little to take the pressure off one of the transports on their way out, but the real battle was being fought close to ground and there wasn't a lot a freighter could do in that situation.

And Luke was fine - well, he wasn't frozen to death; and Leia was with the command team so she'd be fine. Plus the mere thought of Leia made him want to kick something a little bit.

Using Luke was a new low. Of course she didn't mean it, they all knew she didn't mean it, but still. Three years, and him off to face one of the galaxy's most dangerous - or at least craziest - crime lords, and she wouldn't kiss _him_ but she'd kiss someone else just to rub it in.

It just wasn't _nice_. Let alone -

But his mental rant was interrupted by, who else, her. Her voice anyway. Coming from someone's comm as they hustled around the hangar where the _Falcon_ was just about ready to depart. Her voice should not have been on anyone's comm. If she was still giving orders from within comm frequency, then she was still on planet.

Not good, considering her transport was supposed to have left already and _the Imperials were on the ground_. And the command center had apparently been hit already.

Running to look for her was less a conscious choice than an act of resignation. Because, of course. Of course she'd be unnecessarily risking her neck. Of course she'd insist on continuing to give orders until there was no one left to hear them but Imperials. Of course she'd ignore the panicked surveillance tech screaming into the radios that Vader himself was here.

Of course she'd shake him off when he tried to talk to her. Of course.

But at least - at least when he got her to actually look him in the eye, she stopped arguing. Three years - at least she'd learned to tell when he was serious. Because once he saw the falling ice everywhere and the ceiling caving in, and how few personnel were left - he wasn't leaving that command center without her, and he wasn't staying in it with her, and they both knew that.

For about a minute he actually thought he was going to get her to her transport and get out of there unscathed. Unscathed, and unaccompanied (by either her or her annoying droid). But, of course not. Of course the passage caved in. They were lucky that he spotted the weak point about to come down, although that one tremor was hard enough that she was already slipping, falling into his arms even as he grabbed her.

Despite himself, he had a moment of feeling soft for her. In all the time he'd known her, all the dangerous situations they'd gotten themselves into, he'd almost never heard her scream like that. The Imperials, the news about Vader, must have really rattled her no matter how determined she was to be the last one out.

And then, it seemed real possible that she _would_ be the last one out. Or worse, that the guy before her would be. When he told her transport that they could make it to the _Falcon_ , he was definitely trying to sound more confident than he actually felt.

He had this terror in his gut that she wouldn't let herself get captured. Though even if she was captured he couldn't imagine she'd survive long. The Empire wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

The sight of Imperials actually in the hangar as they blasted out - the adrenaline rush of their flight, the pursuit, the asteroid field . . . by the time they set down in that cave he was a wreck. Shaking, muscles feeling as weak as noodles. Spent. Only he couldn't be, because there was something wrong with the hyperdrive and this might be a safe spot for the time being but it was hardly time for a pleasant rest. 

Time to keep pulling it together, like he could tell both Chewie and the princess were. Rattled, especially her, and jumpy, but focused on the problem.

He just needed to stay out of her way for a while.

So of course he immediately ran into her in the lounge.

She looked startled, but her chin went up. "I was just -"

He interrupted whatever she was going to say with a wave of his hand. He couldn't even be in the mood for teasing her anymore - that had been possible as long as some of the adrenaline of their escape still lingered, but now that it was gone all he wanted was to sit down and be left alone.

"Got Chewie monitoring public and Imperial frequencies," he said. "I don't know if it'll do anything - they're not exactly going to say 'hey everyone, we were pursuing this ship but we're satisfied it was destroyed so we're going away now.' But at least we'll know if they're putting an alert out on us."

She nodded. She, too, seemed to be favoring quiet, now that the rush was fading.

He wanted to leave it at that and go, but there were things they really did have to sort out. Practical things, that was - there were a lot of things between them that could maybe do with some sorting out, but he wasn't touching those. "Where would your transport have been going? Guess we'll have to take you all the way there, no chance we can catch up now."

Her chin lifted another fraction, probably in response to his reluctance. If it was bait, though - and he didn't really think he'd meant it to be - she didn't take it. "The fleet will gather at one of the emergency checkpoints. It's classified."

Or maybe she was taking the bait, just a little.

"Classified?" he said. "Like the routes to Hoth were, you mean? Seems like it was all right for me to have those."

"Everybody makes mistakes," she said coldly.

Cute. "Well, Your Worship," he said. "You're going to have to make another one unless you want me to leave you at the nearest port."

She rolled her eyes, but finally said, "Near Sullust."

"Fine. At least it's on the way."

"Well, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"Too late for that," he grumbled.

She glared up at him, hands on hips. "No one told you to come and drag me out -"

"You'd be _dead_! That command center was coming down on your heads -"

"So?"

" _So?_ You think - you really think I'd just take off when you were in danger?"

"That's exactly what you were doing!" she said. "We're always in danger -"

Now he rolled his eyes. "Always with the _we_."

"- and you'd have been gone already if it wasn't for Luke getting lost."

"That's different and you know it," he said.

"How?"

"Just - general - being in a war, versus - you really think I'd leave you to Vader?" More serious than angry now, he stared her down. "Remember how we met?"

"It's not a day I tend to forget." She'd stopped shouting too, but her words came out precise, sharply bitten off.

"Well then."

She looked back at him in awkward silence for a while before taking a deep, visible breath and turning to leave the lounge. The part of him that was never going to let him be sensible made him call after her. "Leia."

She stopped without looking back.

"I'm _sorry_. You know I didn't want to leave, don't you?"

Slowly, she turned to look at him, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. "How would I know that?" she asked.

" _Leia_."

She shrugged. "You've been wanting to leave for three years."

"If I'd wanted to leave, I'd have left."

"You were always saying you were going to."

"But I didn't."

"You never said a word about coming back," she said, and the vehement way it came out showed that this was the crux of the matter for her.

Well, turned out it was for him too. " _Neither did you!_ "

She froze, silent and staring. Finally she cleared her throat and said, in a voice that sounded like she was working hard to keep it calm, "What was I supposed to say?"

"You - _anything_." He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. "If you'd asked me to come back - hell, if you'd even asked if I was planning to . . ."

"Since when do you need to be asked to do something you want to do?"

That was just a little too much, considering. He fixed her with a firm stare. "You have no idea."

"I didn't want you to say you'd come back just because I asked," she said quietly.

"I -" It took him a second to untangle what felt like a loop of _if I wanted, if you wanted_ . . . "I wouldn't have unless I really wanted to."

"And?" she asked, even more quietly.

"I still want to," he found it in himself to admit. "I . . . hope I can."

She stood looking up at him for a long time, her face so still that he almost didn't notice her taking a step closer. Her expression, which had been so guarded for the last few days, was now completely open. He could tell what she wanted. She wanted - even expected - for him to reach out and hold her. She wanted to be forgiven for everything she couldn't say, and comforted for the guilt of it.

And he wanted to hold her, touch her. It had been too long - the brief embrace through his layers of cold weather gear, when he returned half-frozen with Luke's unconscious body, hadn't been enough. 

But he didn't want this - he didn't want to comfort her for the fact that she couldn't let him know how she felt. He was tired, and he was frustrated, and he was about to go off and put himself in grave danger; and he felt selfish. He wanted her to admit she wanted him, and he didn't want to accept anything less.

He didn't even let himself think about the fact that "wanted him" wasn't really what he meant.

He stood his ground. Although after a moment or two of exchanged looks he let her temporarily off the hook and said, gently, "Well - lots of stuff to get to."

She nodded. "You'll tell me. What I can help with."

"Sure," he teased. "I'll let you rewire the hyperdrive."

A bit shyly, she returned his smile. "You know I can at least repair any connections that are obviously damaged."

"I know you can. I taught you."

"And despite that, I somehow learned."

He grinned. He was on his way to go and find that scattered box of hydrospanners when she stopped him.

"Han."

"Yeah?"

She was fighting something, choosing her words. Finally, she said, "I wouldn't give up."

A hopeful bit of warmth spread through his chest, and he said something he'd meant not to. "You know - sometimes a decent guy waits to be asked."

She was surprised for a moment, but she'd clearly given away about as much as she planned to. One eyebrow arched. "I'll keep that in mind," she said. "Next time I meet one."

"Yeah, well." He'd gone from warm to a bit stung, that fast. "Wouldn't hold your breath, I guess. You know where the safety goggles are?"

Leia drew herself up, back to business. "Yes. What do you want?"

"Need you to go into the auxiliary access panel. It'll go better if we can run tests from both sides and you're the only one small enough to work in there without banging your head."

"Fine. Should I take a comm?"

"No, you'll be able to hear me."

"I bet," she muttered, and took herself off. She was heading for his cabin - because it was where they kept the safety goggles - but it reminded him of another one of those details they hadn't discussed.

"Hey," he called after her. "If you need to borrow anything - clothes, whatever, until we get you to the fleet - you know where to look."

She spared him a softer look over her shoulder. "Thanks."

"With any luck it won't be for long."

. . . _why_ did he keep saying stuff like that, just when she was getting less mad?

Without another word or a look, she continued down the corridor.

The situation did not improve much once they were hunkered down working on the hyperdrive. There were times when he'd had the patience to teach her - not that she was a bad student; she was smart and quick and, when in the right mood, rarely complained. Planetside they'd actually had fun, and he knew she came to help with the ship more for the company than because she desperately wanted to learn about ship repair. She could have done a holopad course on that. Those times, he'd enjoyed showing her things and she'd been in a frame of mind both to learn and to be helpful to him, and it'd been nice.

Now, she was not only kind of peeved at him but rubbed raw from the whole day, the battle and the narrow escape and being confronted with a discussion about his leaving . . . and, to give himself credit for his share, he was frustrated with her plus upset about the problems with the ship and nervous about being chased by Imperials with no hyperdrive. He was in no mood to be patient, and she was in no mood to be snapped at, which was bad because that was pretty much what he did when he was impatient.

"I need you to take the back casing off the left side booster," he said, calling through the tangle of machinery to where he could just barely see part of her face at the other access panel.

There was silence for a while, although he could see that her face had moved so she was doing _something_ anyway. After a moment she said, "I don't think it comes off."

"Well, it does, so . . ." He sighed. "Put your fingers in the grooves and your thumb on the tab, and twist."

A pause. "I don't see any grooves."

"Feel them then." Honestly.

"There - really, there's nothing on this casing. It's completely smooth."

He let out another sigh, this one as audible as possible. "If I have to come around there every time I give an instruction -"

"Well, if you can't give better instructions you'll have to," she retorted.

"The _left. Side. Booster_ , Your Highness."

"I'm _looking_ at the . . . wait."

He began counting to ten, slowly, in his head.

"My left side, or your left side?"

"The -" Han stopped, sighed again, this time as much at himself as her, and said, "Mine."

He probably should have apologized, but she let it go.

"Oh." Another pause. "That one comes off. All right. Next?"

"Do you see a thing that kind of looks like a star?"

"Big or little?"

"Big, it's the whole end."

". . . yes. With a hole in the middle?"

He pictured the back of the boosters in his mind. "More like a round groove, but yeah. See if you can turn it."

"Which way?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter."

Some time passed. He thought he could hear her quietly grunting a little. Finally she said, with careful emphasis, " _I_ can't turn it."

This one he could admit was probably unfair. Even if the booster motivator wasn't as fried as he suspected, it tended to be tight and she was scrappy but she was still little. He managed not to sigh again as he pushed himself up off his knees and headed for the corridor. "Hang on, I'm coming," he called.

"Hanging."

She was bent over half into the access panel when he came into the cargo bay, and he absolutely did not stop and stare. "Here, let me try," he said.

She backed out carefully, wiping her hands together. "I don't know if this means anything, but I kind of smell an electric burn."

It did mean something, and it was bad. "I'm afraid the motivator might have overheated and fused," he said, reaching past her. She ducked hastily out of his way, ensuring that they didn't touch.

Han tried not to scowl as he grabbed the motivator with both hands and twisted as hard as he could. Nothing. And now he could smell what she meant by "electric burn".

He swore as he backed out himself - and almost swore again as he bumped into Leia and she jerked away as if he'd shocked her. _Don't_ , he told himself, looking at her wide eyes, at how she looked more scared than pissed at him. _She's had it. It's all too much. You can't blame her._

No matter what she said, how much she tried to cover up, she radiated bewildered hurt. She was spiky with it. It wasn't the time to push her.

Or . . .

With a confused, sinking heart he realized she was now looking tremulous, her lips a little bit parted. He'd stepped closer to her without noticing.

_No_.

He coughed and tried to rearrange his face into some expression that seemed . . . not mean, but businesslike. "I was afraid of that - it's fried," he said. "I'll have to strip it. Do you think you can disconnect the booster hookup and route around it from the backups to the sublight engine? It's, uh - the copper wires, if you can fuse those together and skip out the blue and green ones -"

As he watched, that spikiness took over her expression in place of the nervous hope that he'd just seen. "I think so," she said. "In that panel in the circuitry bay?"

"Yeah. Call me if you can't get the valve open."

"As long as it's not burned too, I'm sure I'll be fine." She left calmly enough, but he could have sworn he heard her give the hull a little kick once she was around the corner. He couldn't exactly blame her.

It took him a while to scrape and strip enough underneath the booster motivator to be able to get it turning, and the whole time, the burnt ozone smell told him this repair was only going to last so long. Temporarily routing around the boosters would avoid another fire, but he still hadn't figured out what had caused the first one, and either way this motivator at least was damaged enough that parts of it would have to be replaced. 

He headed for the circuitry bay to see if Leia had actually managed the job he'd given her, but was waylaid by Chewie and the droid, who between them seemed to have half the hyperdrive disassembled. He was digging into another access panel to find Chewie some extra cord to reroute a damaged connection when 3PO delivered more bad news. Regardless of how casually he played it off, replacing the negative power coupling was going to take more time they might not have.

By the time he found Leia she was trying to close the valve again, which hopefully at least meant she'd been able to make the fix. He was about to ask, but she was struggling and he reached around her to help without overthinking it.

She shrugged him off more violently than before, and he felt himself losing the battle not to get mad. Yeah, he could admit she had reason to be hurt, and he knew all this spikiness was trying to cover that up, but could she really not see that he was _trying_?

He shouldn't have taken her hand - for the record, he really did only do it because he thought she'd hurt herself. She didn't pull away . . . but it took him a second too long to realize she wasn't teasing or deliberately antagonizing him; she was nervous. Frozen, and saying the first thing that came into her head. He should have let her go when she told him to stop . . . but she could easily have pulled her hand from his loose grip, and she didn't. And her other hand was on his arm. For another second he still wasn't sure if they were going to have a fight or if she was going to panic and run or - it took just a bit too long again, but he finally realized her nerves, this tension, this moment was exactly what it felt like.

And she was already so hurt - they both were - how could it make things any worse? And she was here, arguing but not pulling away when she could have; nervous but . . . but the right kind of nervous. Meeting his eyes. Trembling, whatever she said, in his hold, but - there it was - fighting a smile. She wasn't going to admit to giving in, not when they'd been fighting; she wouldn't be Leia if she did. But despite themselves, despite everything, they'd somehow gotten this far, and he could see that she was with him. That tiny bit of a smile was all the permission he needed.

_Now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really not intended to be a purposeful tease, I swear. I just wanted to get us back into Leia's POV for the rest.


	26. a first step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia's stuck on a ship for weeks with the man who keeps trying to leave her - whatever is she going to do about it?

**Part 26: Anoat system, 3 ABY**

 

Leia was fairly certain she had never been so up and down in one day in her entire life. Literally, physically, emotionally; in every way possible.

Obviously there was a lot going on that she couldn't pin on Han. The Empire discovering their base and attacking was not his fault -

\- there was, she supposed, a very slim chance that one of those bounty hunters he was so worried about had managed to track him to Hoth, but that seemed a very very small chance indeed -

\- and neither was the loss of so many of their pilots in the defense of the base, or the fact that the command center had been hit and her route to her arranged transport cut off, or the fact that there was an asteroid field in the middle of their escape route, or (if she was generous) the fact that the Imperials had apparently recognized, or at least taken special interest in, the _Falcon_ and had pursued her so diligently.

The fact that his hyperdrive had stalled out in the middle of their escape, and that something was apparently on fire; that, she was willing to lay at his feet. If he didn't insist on making so many "improvements" . . .

But of course he himself was the reason, now that they had a hiding place and a moment to breathe, why she still felt as if her emotions were all over the galaxy.

He didn't care about her, then he was risking his own escape to drag her bodily from the command center. He shouted at her, then wanted to reassure her. He teased her, then ignored her; he was annoyed and then wanted to apologize. He said he didn't really want to leave but he didn't seem to want to reconcile. He was gentle, then frustrated, then all business again, as if he'd never looked at her like . . .

She kind of wished she had the option to tell him what he could do with his copper wiring, but obviously that was impractical at the moment. There was nowhere for any of them to go until they'd managed to fix the hyperdrive.

It was _probably_ not his fault that circuitry valves were hard to open, or that welding made her wrist hurt, or that she managed to bruise her finger just because he was watching. But her generosity only went so far.

She shouldn't have made such a big deal about him taking her hand, especially when at first he did it in that same businesslike manner. Sure, maybe he wouldn't have rubbed Luke's hand if it were injured, but it still wasn't crossing any line.

But, of course, it didn't feel like just-business to her, which was why she couldn't think of anything less stupid than _my hands are dirty_. Because _really_. Both their hands had just been in the innards of the hyperdrive boosters. She couldn't have said _that hurts_ or _I'm mad at you and I need that hand to punch you in the face_? For example?

But no, the only thing in her brain had been _I don't want you to, you're confusing me_ and so what had come out, in her desperation not to say _that_ , had been ridiculous nonsense.

And then his voice had done . . . that.

In all the time she'd known him, he'd teased her, joked with her, shouted at her, snarked at her, comforted her, given her orders, encouraged her - but he'd never done this thing, this low, gravelly . . . _purr_. If she hadn't been confused before, she definitely was now.

Confused, kind of frozen, a little scared - though obviously when someone _asked_ if she was afraid, her reflex response was "no" - just, consumed by this tension and expectation that was suddenly between them. She thought he must actually be able to see her heart beating; it was pounding hard enough to make her chest move under her vest.

His voice and his words were - well, there was no other way to put it than _seductive_ , and this felt like such a sudden switch in mood - but then she looked, really looked at him, and his expression was so vulnerable that she felt herself starting to smile. If he was doing this because he really wanted it - finally, really wanted to cross this line with her - then she could; she could see herself giving in . . . and all she could think was that he was trying to smooth-talk her now because he didn't know any other way to do this, and if true that was frankly _cute_ and she just couldn't help smiling.

Which he evidently took as permission, because whatever bizarre nonsense she was saying was cut off - not by the roughness of passion which she might have expected, but by a kiss that was more of a coaxing than anything else.

She didn't need to be coaxed. But she did kind of freeze under the shock of it - the rush of something in her chest, the leaping in her stomach, so much sensation so centered on her lips . . . the kisses she'd experienced before had felt like absolutely nothing, no different from any other touch on any other part of her skin, no different from kissing her father on the cheek. She'd often wondered if it would be different if she had more feelings involved. Now she had her answer. And she might have a heart attack.

He was separating his mouth from hers though, and as she looked at him in a sort of stunned confusion she saw a very similar look on his own face. Then, over the rushing in her ears, she dimly registered 3PO saying something. It didn't matter what. Now that the moment was broken she could feel color rushing to her face - her arms had somehow ended up around his neck, and she did _not_ remember doing that; she wasn't even sure how she'd managed to reach that high - he wasn't saying anything, just looking shocked with his mouth open . . . and she fled. Whether she was fleeing the embarrassment of being caught by her droid, or fleeing whatever response Han might eventually have had, she didn't know, but her pulse was pounding and she had to move.

That she ended up in the cockpit was ironic, since it was maybe the one place in the entire galaxy that she associated the most with his presence. But he wasn't there now, he was dealing with a power coupling or something, and Chewie was nested in the upper reaches of the hyperdrive, and the cockpit was empty and quiet with a soothing view of nothing at all.

She needed to think, she needed to understand . . .

He'd been cycling through annoyed and angry and gentle, but what was he actually feeling? Had anything changed? 

She'd been right, she knew it, about him courting her back on Hoth. He'd meant that, he must have. And then he got so distant once he'd told her that he was leaving, as if he'd changed his mind about all of it . . . but, she flashed back to their conversation in the lounge earlier; he'd admitted that he'd wanted her to ask him to come back. 

Which she obviously couldn't do, because to ask him to come back was to consent to his leaving.

She'd asked him to _stay_ , hadn't that been enough for him?

He just made no sense, because if he'd backed off of courting her because he was leaving . . . did that mean, did kissing her just now mean - well, it clearly meant that he'd changed his mind about something, but which part? About leaving? Or about whether to kiss her - or do anything else with her - before he left?

Head in her hands, staring out at the dim suggestion of cave walls, she sighed because she was pretty sure it was the second thing. He'd been so emphatic about this issue with the bounty hunters. Nothing he'd said since they left Hoth gave any sign of his changing his mind.

So. What did he want from her?

And then it temporarily didn't really matter because there was a _thing_ outside, and then the cave collapsing, and flying through _teeth_ for the love of all that was holy, and being right back in the Empire's crosshairs again, and she very carefully did not use any of the Corellian words she'd learned from Wedge because if she started swearing now she'd never, never stop. Han would eventually drop her back at the fleet still screaming colorful Corellian obscenities.

When everything had calmed down - when they had drifted off with the trash and set course, slow, slow, course, for Bespin - she retreated to the lounge for another moment to think. About what to do with respect to the Alliance leadership, or so she told herself as hard as she could. Not about what to do with Han. Stuck on a ship for - how long? it must be weeks at least - with Han.

When he inevitably found her there, she decided to get the details over with. "How long?" she asked.

He winced as if expecting her to erupt in temper. Which might have been fair. "Four weeks."

She blew out a slow breath, but it wasn't really any surprise. She'd known it must be a while; if anything this was better than her most pessimistic predictions. "Can we make it?"

"On fuel and supplies and all - yeah, we'd stocked up for a long run, so. We're all right." He was studying her, she could tell, trying to read her mood. Slowly he took a couple steps closer.

Right. The crisis was over, their course was set, and they were alone. She felt heat rising in her cheeks.

Sure enough, he came closer and closer, until he could lightly brush her shoulder with his hand. She was shaking again with sudden nerves, but oh, she liked the look on his face. It was so open, so _nervous_ , so sweet . . . Reassured, she reached out and put her hand at his waist, tilted her face up to his. 

She just barely caught his little exhalation of relief as he bent down to her, and it was sweeter than anything.

This kiss was - _more_. It wasn't aggressive, but my, was it different. The touch of his tongue, the wonderful pressure of his lips capturing her upper lip between them, his hands framing her jaw and the light rubbing of his fingertips at the nape of her neck, under her hair . . . she made a noise in the back of her throat and her eyes squeezed tighter shut in mortification, but he just gave a little groan that seemed like a reply, and pulled away from her mouth to kiss her cheek, the bridge of her nose, her forehead.

When she found the courage to open her eyes he was watching her, his expression cautious, while one hand stroked her hair back from her face and his fingertips trailed along her hairline and down her cheek.

No one had ever, ever looked at her like that. She couldn't have imagined it if she'd tried.

She took a deep breath, then tried to put a little starch in her voice so he'd understand that she wasn't talking about _them_. "What now?" she asked. Not that she really wanted to think about route logistics and ship repair right now . . . but this thing between them was tiny and precious and fragile and, she thought, could be easily crushed by talking about it just yet.

He cleared his throat. "Uh. Yeah. Well, an inventory would be helpful, but you're not exactly the best . . ."

The nonperishable food supplies were on shelves at least six feet high. "No," she agreed. "Not unless you've got a ladder."

"You'd probably better focus on getting a message to the leadership, if you can," he said.

She nodded, having already been thinking along those lines, of course. "I'm not _that_ worried," she said. More or less without her permission, her hand had reached for his elbow and was working its slow way up his arm, but that was irrelevant. "You told the transport I was with you, and someone must have seen the _Falcon_ make it off-planet. They won't think I'm missing yet."

His eyes darted down, clocking her hand moving on his arm, and as if in response he brushed the knuckle of one finger under her chin. "A month from now they will," he said.

"I'd hope they'd start worrying sooner than that." Her hand had reached his shoulder and she rubbed the collar of his jacket idly between her fingers. "We should be in range of one of the coded drops, I think."

"Good," he said, very, very quietly.

How was she this bold when she didn't even know what she wanted? Except apparently she did know, because she wasn't doing a lot of thinking right now and yet she was still moving. Her hand slipped around to the back of his neck - she was up on her toes, but he didn't seem inclined to laugh - and she stretched as high as she could and pulled him down the rest of the way.

He kissed her gently this time and more or less chastely, though one of his fingertips had moved down from her chin to navigate into the collar of her coat and find bare skin on the side of her neck, and that made her shiver. "Well," he said almost against her lips, just barely pulling away, "if you're not going to get any taller, I'd better get a start on that inventory myself. Let Chewie know if you need help with the radio."

"All right," she said and, flushing hot at how bold she was being, stretched up to kiss the corner of his mouth before she slipped past him and out of the lounge.

_Well, that made things much clearer_ , she thought. Her own inner voice was going snarky on her. _Good job finding out what he wants from you_.

In her mind Leia arched an eyebrow and tried telling herself, _I rather think that's what I just did_. It sort of worked.

Like the _Falcon_ 's radio equipment. No, if she was fair, this was one instance in which she was grateful that half the ship was older than she was. She knew less about fancy new equipment than she did about the basics, and this radio was definitely basic. If she was interpreting the display correctly - which was by no means certain - they were indeed still within range of one of the Alliance's networks, set up to exchange coded messages between members of the rebellion when they couldn't find or couldn't reach each other. She probably couldn't get a reply; by the time anyone intercepted her message they'd be out of range. But if it worked, she could at least get word (slowly) to the Alliance command that she wasn't MIA. If not - well, then they'd be very surprised to hear from her when she contacted them from Bespin. She hoped it would at least be a pleasant surprise.

She lingered after sending her messages, not exactly sure what to do next. The occasional banging, hissing, or Wookiee-growling from somewhere above her head told her that Chewie was still trying to put back together the parts of the hyperdrive that weren't actually damaged. 3PO was still powered down somewhere, recharging. Han would probably be in the main hold . . . did she want to look for him?

He made up her mind for her, approaching with a casual posture and a can of something in his hand. He held it out without waiting for her to stand up from her seat. "Can you read that?" he asked.

She took it and turned it around and around looking for a language she recognized, but whatever this was, it wasn't in her repertoire. "No," she said. "Are these numbers the expiry date?" If so, whatever it was had expired about the time Leia was entering university.

"There's a chance it's the calories or something." He took it back from her with a dubious look.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Something I'm guessing we shouldn't eat. Just in case." He grinned. "Apparently this is the most thorough inventory I've done since I got her."

"You'll have time to memorize the inventory, I'd think," she said.

"No kidding. By the third week we'll probably be reorganizing it by color, just to be pretty."

She laughed. "Or by meal. Breakfast foods on the left."

"That's not the worst idea, actually." He set the mystery can down near the radio and extended his hand to her. "Come up in the turret with me?"

"Is something malfunctioning?"

"No. It's just - quiet."

_Oh_ , her inner voice said helpfully. She hesitated for half a moment, then took his hand and let him lead her out of the chair and toward the gun turret.

The seat itself certainly wasn't big enough for two, and she did blush at first wondering if he planned - but he sat down on the floor just to the side of the gun station, and so she settled down beside him. It wasn't uncomfortable, actually. This part of the floor was covered with some kind of spongy rubberized material that probably served some legitimate purpose, but it didn't make for bad cushioning.

Maybe it was in case you fell out of the seat? Speculating allowed her to distract herself momentarily from the warmth of his shoulder against hers, the tension that had settled in.

"I thought we should talk," he said finally.

She looked up at him, but he was staring out at the stars. She leaned back against the wall and did the same. "All right."

He began haltingly. "I - you know I -" His hand settled on her thigh, which was certainly new territory and should have felt that way, but somehow it didn't. He wasn't trying something; just anchoring them together in this space. "There was a reason," he started again. "Why I never - started something, before Echo. You know."

"There was?"

"Yeah."

Was he going to share it? She figured probing wouldn't make him any less uncomfortable, so she waited patiently. With the appearance of patience, anyway.

"I always planned to go and take care of things with Jabba," he said. "I was always - I always knew I had to leave at some point. I didn't think it would be right . . ." He looked down at her now, his fingers pressing a bit into her leg. "I don't get involved a lot."

"I can see that," she said quietly.

"I - we don't stay in the same place, you know? No home port. You get involved with somebody, living like that - it's a good way to leave behind a lot of pissed off people."

She nodded, because she did understand, and because it was a reasonable alternative to asking exactly how many pissed off women he'd left across the galaxy. She had a feeling that was an answer she didn't actually want.

"But. You, you're . . ."

Somehow she was startled by this reference to her, which was stupid given how this story had started.

"You're . . ." he tried again, then exhaled heavily and bent down, leaning his forehead onto the top of her head. "I decided I could stay," he said, still bent over her, his voice rumbling in her head. "I meant that, when I said it - you have to know that."

"I believed you," she said.

The past tense must not have quite satisfied him, because he sat up and leaned into her field of vision, until he'd captured her gaze. "I _meant_ it, Leia. I figured - okay, Jabba's got it in for me, but you're right, the Empire has it in for all of us, so - and I mean, the Empire's just evil, they're not _crazy_ , but it's probably fine, you know? We could - we could stay, I thought we could stay." From her thigh his hand moved to take one of hers. "And not because I like Rieekan so much."

"Or Luke?" she asked, a little bit teasing, a little bit not.

"Luke's - well, all right, sure, he's part of it. But no, I did not decide to stay on account of Luke." He relaxed back against the wall again. "So then I thought, you know. All right." His other hand covering their joined ones made clear what he meant.

She wanted to enjoy the glow that gave her, but . . . "But," she said.

"But. That bounty hunter I know, she made it clear I can't risk it anymore - this thing with Jabba and Vader -"

"Which still makes no sense," Leia interjected.

"I know. The Empire must have better ways of looking for the Alliance than following me around. I still don't get it. But I believe Vella, whether it makes sense or not that's what's happening. And I can't ignore that. I can pay Jabba now - I don't have enough credits, but I've got enough stuff in the compartments to sell first. And . . ." He took a deep breath, holding her hand tighter. "When I say Jabba's crazy - I mean _anything_ could happen. He could laugh, accept the payment, and say he likes my . . . what do they call it on Alderaan?"

"Balls," she said, which was most definitely not what they called it on Alderaan, but it was in the rebellion and she liked the way it made him sputter for a second.

"Well - right. Or he could tell me I owe him another spice run. Or six. Or a year of service, or five years, or twenty. Or he could sell me to the spice mines. Or feed me to his rancor on the spot. _Anything_."

Leia felt the blood draining from her face. "You can't go," she said. "Han. I had no - if he's going to _kill_ you, you can't go there. Are you insane?"

"If I don't go, he just keeps getting madder, which is what's been happening the last three years, and someday he catches up with me, and I'd rather take my chances now than when he's even madder."

"But -" She twisted toward him, floundering; with the hand he wasn't holding she gripped one side of his jacket. "There are other ways. The Alliance could pay him -"

"With what? I didn't think the Alliance had that kind of money to spare."

"With your money," she said. "I did kind of think you'd give it to us for the purpose."

"Right. Obviously." He shook his head. "But, he wouldn't accept that. He wants me to grovel in person, he wants the satisfaction."

"But -"

"Look, can we - can we forget about Jabba for a second?" He lifted their joined hands meaningfully. "I was kind of in the middle of something."

She wasn't likely to forget about Jabba, but she supposed they did have four weeks to hash it out. She settled back against his side. "All right."

"The point is - I can't promise to make it back. So it didn't feel right to keep . . . you know. If I had to leave, it was better to just leave, right away. When I still thought I could."

He seemed to want some kind of response, but she was stuck on _I can't promise to make it back_.

"But," he said. It was a popular word for this conversation, which made sense considering how often they'd both changed their minds and changed their moods over the last days. Another but, another pivot. "Here we are," he said.

"Here we are," she repeated softly.

"I mean - four weeks."

"I know."

"I didn't mean for anything to happen," he said, "but I don't think I would have made it four weeks."

Four weeks with little other company, and fewer distractions, and nowhere to go. She nodded. She felt a little wide-eyed, but that was because she was trying not to picture exactly what he planned for filling those four weeks now.

"So that's the question," he said.

She frowned and twisted to look up at him. "There's a question?"

"Yeah. You're stuck with me -"

"Thought it was the other way around."

He gave a short laugh and bent to kiss her forehead. It felt so fond and so natural that her heart hurt. "Question is," he said, "knowing that after four weeks I have to go and deal with Jabba -"

"We _don't_ know that," she insisted. "We haven't considered all the -"

"Just - just for now, all right? Assume . . . in four weeks, when we get to Bespin, I have to leave."

She didn't want to assume that, but she pressed her lips tightly together and nodded.

"Knowing that, knowing everything that could happen . . ." He was looking at her seriously now, so seriously that his forehead was creased. "Do you want this?"

He was right - that was the question, wasn't it? She leaned her head on his shoulder, considering her answer. Her body had already voted - her hand was tightly gripping his; she wanted, badly, for him to kiss her again . . . but if she was going to be hurt, if it meant more of the panicky, hollow feeling in her stomach at the thought of him leaving and not coming back . . .

That decided her, actually. She already felt that way, how much worse could it get?

She'd never been very good at talking about these things - not that it had ever come up, really - but expressing her feelings in general was not a strength of hers. Right now though, she didn't need to say it all. She didn't need to try to tell him how she felt, how that leaping excited nervous feeling when he kissed her blended with the comfort she felt when she was with him . . . how much she wanted that comfort if she had to spend the next four weeks dreading the possibility of losing him . . . She didn't have to say any of that right now. The one necessary word, that she could manage.

"Yes," she said.

She felt the weight of his head leaning on top of hers before he said, "All right."

There was a silence, during which she looked at their stretched-out legs in front of her and had some more nervous ideas about what came next.

He broke the silence with, "You sure?"

"Yes," she repeated, smiling a little.

His hand slid under her chin and along her jaw, turning her face toward him as his head lifted from hers. She accepted his kiss gladly despite the new shot of nerves it sent through her, now that she'd officially signed on for this. It was, indeed, deeper again and more intense than any of their previous kisses; but almost right away he disengaged and pressed a couple smaller, brief kisses to her lips instead, while his fingers threaded into her hair.

Then he pulled back and looked at her for a moment, a little smile lighting up his eyes. "Hey," he said. "How many times have you been kissed? Before today?"

"Why, did I do it wrong?" she asked drily. Judging by his responses, she was pretty sure she knew the answer (not that there wasn't a moment of uncertainty).

He laughed. "No. Just asking."

She took a deep breath, counting, while he leaned in and brushed her cheek with his nose. "Seven." It sounded sort of pathetic, but at least it wasn't _none_.

"Seven?"

She nodded.

"All right," he said, his lips so close to hers. Then he closed that small distance and kissed her. "There."

"What?"

"Seven. Now you've kissed me more times than anyone else put together."

It was so corny, and he was _so_ pleased with himself. She matched his grin - but - "No," she said. "Now I've kissed you exactly as many times as everyone else put together."

His grin turned into a laugh as he kissed her again, this time with his teeth nipping a bit at her lower lip. She liked it. "I was never very good at math," he said.

"Well." His hand was cradling the side of her face; she reached up and held his wrist for a moment before placing her hand over his, holding it against her cheek. "Now you're ahead."

"Better make sure," he said, and this time the kiss did not end for a long, long while. Until they were both twisted sideways, trying to press closer; until her head was spinning from his taste and his smell and the feeling of his mouth on hers; until she was, if she was honest, starting to feel a bit less nervous about the idea of _what comes next_. Then - then he pulled back, leaving her with more little, less frenzied kisses on her lips, her chin, her cheek; until he had shifted back far enough to lean against the wall again and pull her back into his arms. Her head rested against his chest and one of his hands stroked up and down her arm, and he seemed happy just to sit here like this.

She looked out at the stars again and felt her nerves starting to drain away.


	27. one foot in front of the other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the long trip to Bespin, through Han's eyes.

**Part 27: Anoat system, 3 ABY**

 

Leia fell asleep for a while, on the floor of the gun turret.

Not that he could blame her. They'd all been going nonstop without real rest, food, or water for . . . how long? It had to be more than a day.

In fact, in a while he'd wake her and they should all eat, and then try to figure out ship's time and set some rotations. With Goldenrod in the mix, hopefully they could arrange to have all the organics asleep for at least some of the night, avoid throwing anybody's body clock off too badly. Though the fact that he had no idea what day or time it was right now probably meant his was already off.

He shifted Leia a bit, off his arm that was going numb; but although he watched her cautiously she didn't wake up. He didn't want to imagine the state she was probably in. For that matter, _he'd_ slept, out in the cold-weather shelter with Luke back on Hoth. Maybe not well, but for a few hours at least. And if he believed Chewie, Leia'd barely slept at all through that night, other than dozing off on her feet. 

_Sorry_ , he thought, stroking a finger along her sleeve. Not that he could have done anything different. He wasn't sure her state of mind would have been any better if they'd been on good terms when he disappeared all night. 

She was for sure first up for some real sleep. In the meantime he could close his eyes with her for a while. Anything that was wrong with the ship now was nonemergency and could be fixed either quickly or not at all, until they got parts. Just like the old days on a long run with Chewie . . . he had nowhere to be.

Nowhere, that was, other than being a pillow for a sleeping princess. He honestly couldn't have said what he'd expected her answer to be. . . On the one hand, her response to him kissing her (well, other than when she ran away, but he was all right with blaming the droid for that) had been all he could have wanted and more. On the other hand . . . it was Leia. Leia was big on suddenly changing her mind, and not so big on risking her feelings. The whole time he'd been not starting something with her because he was leaving - well, she'd also been backing away every time he reminded her that he was leaving. 

And now - he thought, maybe - she finally got it that him leaving was a definite. Not a choice, for either of them, but something that had to happen.

(He _hoped_ she got it. Her continuing to insist there was another way worried him a little.)

So, it being Leia, he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd said it was too much, that she couldn't get involved with him and then see him go. He'd have been let down, but he couldn't really even be hurt - it made too much sense.

Well, unless she'd stayed mad and chosen to say she hated his guts and would never even consider being involved with someone like him. That would have stung.

Luckily she hadn't gone that direction. Still, he really was a little surprised. Kissing him was one thing - he'd seen that barrier about to drop and moved at just the right time. But that she'd been able to admit - to say out loud that she wanted this with him, that was . . . surprising. 

Surprising, and a lot of other things. Good things. Things he couldn't necessarily put words to, any more than she'd been able to say anything but "yes".

Still. She'd put a lot in that "yes". And although he could second-guess it -

\- they were stuck and she was just trying to avoid a real awkward four weeks; she was afraid and there was no one around but him; he already knew that she found him safe and comforting (when she wasn't mad at him) and maybe that was all this was -

\- maybe they didn't need to say anything else right now. Maybe her yes was enough. Hell, he had four weeks to work on getting more out of her.

And then - well, he just wouldn't think about that right now. In four weeks he'd just have to do his best to survive and make it back to her, that was all.

Lucky for him that surviving was pretty much his main skill.

He wasn't sure exactly how long they'd been sitting there, but after a while he came to groggy awareness and realized it must have been some time. Leia was still asleep, or at least seemed to be. He bent over her and kissed her forehead, while rubbing her upper arm.

"Hey," he said when her eyes fluttered. He hadn't moved far, and while she adjusted to being awake he kissed her again, a couple more times. The smell of her hair this close up, her skin against his lips - these were things he still couldn't quite believe.

(And underneath was still a little terror that she'd wake up having changed her mind. Or forgotten what they'd talked about.)

Her hand groped around and fastened onto the open side of his jacket. "Sorry," she said, her voice low and a bit scratchy.

"It's all right," he said. He was trying to tell himself to leave her be, not to overwhelm her just in case . . . just in case she was confused or panicking or thinking about fleeing. But his hand was cupping the back of her head, thumb stroking her neck, as if it had a mind of its own.

Fortunately she didn't seem to care. "Has it been long?" she asked. She was trying to sit up, and he helped her with a gentle shove.

"Not sure. But we should find Chewie and all eat something. We're on course so we might as well get on schedule."

She squinted in the dim light at the chrono on her wrist. "I think it's about eighteen hundred, on Hoth."

"That's it? When did we leave?"

"About sixteen hundred." She stretched a little. "Yesterday."

"That seems right, I guess." He went to get his feet under him and winced. This bit of floor was comfortable enough, but he was probably too old to spend hours sitting on it. "That isn't bad," he added as she pulled herself to her feet. "Reasonable dinnertime, even."

She nodded and asked, as she made to climb down from the turret, "Has Chewie been on watch this whole time? While we were - here?"

Was she blushing? It was hard to tell in this light.

"Nah," he replied. "He was still up in the hyperdrive. If he finished he probably went for a rest. I left 3PO on watch."

"You trusted 3PO in your cockpit?"

"He's too scared to touch anything." He swung himself down the ladder after her, waiting until he'd touched bottom to add, "We'll want him taking regular watch. That way all of us can sleep when it's nighttime, more or less."

She nodded. She was fussing with her hair a little, trying to smooth it back. It was both unnecessary and pointless; there was no fixing those loose wisps, and they were cute anyway. "I've been on long runs with you before," she said, "but never outside the hyperspace lanes."

It didn't _sound_ (for once) like a dig at his ship. "Yeah," he said. "Have to be a little more careful we don't run into anything. Or anybody."

"Especially some very specific anybodies," she agreed.

She was avoiding his eyes, he realized. Carefully - he still felt like she could startle at any moment - he reached out and touched her arm, tugged just enough that she had to face him. "Hey," he said.

She looked up and met his eyes with a nervous intensity. "Hey."

He wanted to pull her closer but settled for rubbing her arm with his thumb. Whether she could actually feel it through the cold-weather gear she was still wearing was anybody's guess. "All right?"

She was looking for something in his face now, and he did his best to project something reassuring. After a moment her expression relaxed. "Yeah," she said. "Fine."

_Fine_ from Leia didn't always mean much, but this time it sounded like she meant it. He smiled. "Good." When she smiled, too, he bent down and kissed her. Just quickly, just to seal it. They were fine. Good.

Chewie was on board with the plan, although - with what he probably thought was great tact - he suggested, in a moment when Leia was out of earshot, that Han would want for himself and the little one to have the same sleep shift.

"I thought we all could, mostly," Han said, before it occurred to him to ask ". . . why?"

Chewie shrugged.

Ah. On second thought, Han did not need to hear an explanation that probably would have included words like _mating_. Shyriiwook vocabulary was really only capable of being so tactful. "It's not - uh - it's not really like . . . you know, could you not call her that when you're talking about . . . _that_?"

Chewie clearly did not understand the problem. "She is little."

"I know she's little, but it's - creepy . . ." Leia's footsteps were returning, and Han waved at Chewie to keep quiet. "Just - she can kind of understand you, don't ask about any of that, all right?"

Leia returned just as Chewie made a quiet noise of agreement. He then made conscious eye contact with her, and enunciated slowly, "There are ingredients for the stew everyone liked on Abrax. It makes the protein packets much more edible."

Leia listened with wide-eyed, serious attention, but in the end she just frowned. "I know that was about food," she said, sounding rather disappointed in herself.

Han grinned - because of the way her nose was wrinkling, not because she was confused - and gave a quick translation. "Hey, that's something we've got time for," he added.

"Stew?" Leia asked.

"Well, sure, but - I mean, me and Chewie could help you learn Shyriiwook a bit better. If you want."

It wasn't any kind of a test, but he was still pleased to see her face light up. "Oh, yes!" she said. "I'd love that, if Chewie wouldn't mind."

Chewie did not mind, and proved it by painstakingly repeating various cooking and food words while he made the stew - along with a lot of awkward Wookiee mime that Han could have sworn he remembered from his own early days of traveling with Chewie - until Leia could at least differentiate between the actual sounds for "cook" and "food". She hung in valiantly through this process, but by the time she'd eaten about half her stew she was noticeably drooping.

Han reached over and rubbed a hand over her thigh - still, always, watching to see if this new thing bothered her. She didn't react, other than to look a bit sleepily in his direction.

"Your bunk's still cleared," he told her. "You can go on and hit it whenever you want. Preferably before your head hits the table."

Leia shook her head and blinked very fast, which told Han she was struggling even more than he'd thought to stay awake. "I'm fine. I can at least help with dishes."

"I'm sure you _can_ , but you're worn out." He glanced at Chewie for just a second, then leaned over and kissed her temple. "You've more than pulled your weight," he murmured against her hair. "Go to bed, sweetheart."

Her cheeks, when he looked, were stippling with fiery red, and she was looking at Chewie too. Chewie responded with equanimity, though, and only warbled an agreement with Han.

"He says he's not carrying you if you fall asleep out here," Han said with a smile.

"He did not," Leia said, but she smiled back. She pushed herself to her feet with her hand on Han's shoulder. "If you really don't mind . . ."

He covered her hand with his and said, "Go."

With a self-conscious look to Chewie across the table, she went.

Han's eyes went to his partner, too, once Leia had gone. He was aware that this was weird for all of them - he hadn't been kidding when he'd told Leia that he didn't get involved much. There'd been the odd time here and there, usually with someone he knew, some woman from one of the repair shops or the shipyards, but that almost never happened in front of Chewie. His partner had never seen him picking up women in the spaceport bars, either; it had never been Han's style. Gambling at sabacc or exchanging stories with other pilots, sure; casual pickups, no.

Han gave him a slightly desperate look that sort of meant "am I doing all right?"

Chewie made a noncommittal noise back at him. It could have meant anything from _sure, fine_ to _how am I supposed to know, humans make no sense_. Which - yeah, Han could really only imagine how baffling (and maybe entertaining) this all must have been for Chewie. Wookiee courtships kind of either went a certain way or they didn't; there were signals and traditions and rules. They didn't just shout at each other for three years and then suddenly turn domestic.

Which was another thing. Wookiee courtships had a clear destination in mind, and no purpose other than setting up with a mate and raising cubs. Han was . . . well, he adored Leia and he'd pretty much let her turn his life upside down already, but . . . yeah.

"It's not exactly all settled," he said quietly to Chewie once he was sure Leia was far enough away. "Not like you think."

Chewie huffed. "I understand wooing," he said.

"I guess," Han said with a laugh. "But it's not - it's not like once she, ah, accepts, that's it and everything happens at once. Especially with women like her."

Chewie was giving him what Han read as a slightly judgmental look.

"We're in a four-week holding pattern before I go off and try to defend myself against a giant slug," Han said. "It's not exactly the time to be taking things much further."

"Four weeks is a long time."

"Yeah, it is," Han said. It was starting to feel like time for a drink.

 

Things settled into routine - a comfortable one, after a few days had gone by and Leia started to lose that wariness she had around him. As if she wasn't sure how to behave or what might happen.

Han spent a lot of time reminding himself that she was even less used to this kind of thing than he was. And _he_ wasn't loaded up with all kinds of expectations -

\- all right, he was; but his were all about later. If/when he made it back - then it was back to _a princess and a guy like me_. And wondering what, exactly, she would want with him, especially if/when the war ever ended -

\- her expectations, though, were immediate. And he was beginning to get the feeling that someone'd filled her head up with a lot of stuff about what men wanted, and they'd done a thorough job of it. He hadn't tried anything - had very carefully _not_ tried anything - but he was still getting really used to the feeling of her tensing up, and then relaxing, in his arms.

But that was . . . it was a little thing, and it was getting better.

They did, every ship's morning, once Chewie's slightly later sleep shift was over and they'd all had some breakfast, sit down in the lounge and work on Leia's understanding of Shyriiwook. She was as quick at this as she seemed to be at everything, although it was plain to see that she got frustrated with herself when it was difficult. Han could picture her being a very good university student, though (not that he'd ever imagined otherwise); she kept her frustration under control and was always courteous with Chewie, patiently asking him to repeat when she was having a hard time.

The middle of the day Han and Chewie mostly filled with those nonemergency repairs, the stuff that didn't require parts. And cleaning out the holds, the dark corners of the smuggling compartments . . . Han and Leia hadn't been far off when they'd joked about reorganizing the food stores. Leia, meanwhile, seemed to have an endless amount of work from _somewhere_ \- he didn't pry, and she didn't explain, but she found something to do for hours each day with a borrowed datapad and sometimes his maps and route charts.

Every now and then he dropped past the lounge where she'd be sitting . . . though on the third or fourth day he realized he'd been doing it at roughly the same time every day, so after that he tried a kind of forced spontaneity. Because it felt kind of weird to schedule this. But he'd drop by and give her a quick kiss, sometimes just on the forehead or the top of her head; and sometimes that would be it, or sometimes she'd look up and reach out . . . and then he'd pull her up to him, or he'd sit down on the bench beside her, and they'd spend a long, long time getting very good at kissing each other. These were the times when she sometimes felt a little tense, and he did his best to just hold her and make his hands behave themselves, to do things he thought might be soothing - stroking her hair, taking a break when things were getting heavy - and she did always relax back into him.

He almost wanted to get it out in the open, talk about it, but so far he hadn't.

Once her nerves had sorted themselves out a little bit, evenings became the most unexpectedly perfect part of their routine. In the lounge or, by the second week, even on one of their bunks, they'd sit close together with whatever holodrama he'd managed to find, a film (sometimes a very old one), or even occasionally a novel or only slightly outdated news stories from across the galaxy. With Chewie on watch in the cockpit, they'd spend a few hours just wrapped up in each other the way Han imagined normal people must do.

If you'd ever told him that he'd want to spend hours every evening just sitting with a woman in his arms watching _Pirates of the Jakku_ . . .

The thing they did not do was talk about them. Once that first discussion was out of the way - they both seemed to feel like either that was enough, or like something might go wrong if they talked about it. Or something.

They certainly had proved themselves capable of turning nearly anything into a fight in the past, so maybe this made sense.

(Which was another thing they didn't do. They didn't fight. It was as if nothing was left to fight about. Han didn't kid himself about whether that might change when they got to Bespin and he had to think about leaving for real.)

So for now, they just . . . were. Peacefully, pleasantly, weirdly, domestic. They didn't talk about it, but it was nice, when he banged his head on the hyperdrive motivator hard enough to see stars _inside_ the ship, to have Leia running her fingers through his hair and over the sore spot. It was nice to see her all the time (and not expect her to be mad at him).

They definitely did not talk about love; but he spent most of every evening with her curled up in his arms and he thought that was probably what it felt like.

And they were almost halfway to Bespin.


	28. walking the labyrinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia's taking a long journey with nowhere to go.

**Part 28: Anoat system, 3 ABY**

 

One thing Leia was pretty sure of was that feeling useless would not help.

Han was - she had no idea what Han was doing. He'd asked if she wanted this with him, whatever _this_ was, and she'd have thought that would be clearer except that so far he seemed to mean everything exactly as before, but with kissing.

Not that she had anything against the kissing. The kissing continued to put to shame any other previous experience she'd had (to the extent anyone's idea of "experience" included walking the palace gardens with boys who were as carefully managed and chaperoned as she was). There was a whole repertoire, some of which still made her stomach jump and adrenaline shoot through her body, while others just made her feel warm and comfortable and happy.

Still, if this was all he'd meant by it, why would he have felt the need to ask?

Having nothing to do was not making her any less confused, not to mention that four weeks of having nothing to do would make her crazy. She couldn't help with most of the repairs that needed to be made - yes, she could do some things; Han had taught her and she was pretty good at what she'd learned. But the things he and Chewie were working on now, with their long stretches of available time - these things seemed complicated and nitpicky and like they needed to be done exactly right. It would take Han longer to explain how she could "help" than just to do it himself. Not that they were short on time . . . but she was so conscious of not wanting to demand his attention. Not wanting to be needy that way. She didn't want him to have to entertain her; she wanted to do something useful.

For the first couple days they were drifting toward Bespin, she wandered the ship in search of anything she could improve without messing it up. While Han and Chewie were taking turns in the cockpit or making loud banging noises with heavy tools deep in the bowels of the ship, she (slowly) shifted crates of stew out of the crew bunks and stacked them with the rest of the food inventory Han had so painstakingly organized. She found blankets stored in three different places and stacked them in the bunkroom cabinet by weight. She found a hydrospanner Han had been missing (well, "found" in the sense that it fell off a top bunk and nearly clocked her in the head) and slipped into the circuitry bay where they were working that day to return it.

She was useful-ish. Han of course never asked what she had been doing, and he did request her help every now and then. And then they'd be alone for a while, and whatever she'd been finding to fill her time would fade into the background, and she'd kiss him back with as much focus as she'd put into organizing the storage lockers, and try not to wonder what she was supposed to do next.

With him _or_ with the ship.

Then on the third day she had a stray thought about how the Empire had destroyed all the archives of the Republic government, and all records of the senate as soon as it had been disbanded, and she had her project.

She borrowed a datapad from Han - who handed it to her without asking why, kissed the top of her head, and wandered off to get back to his work - and started with nothing but that and her memory. Who, how many, where . . . she sat and typed from pure stream of consciousness, leaving organization for later, just getting everything down that she could possibly remember. Worlds and systems and how much representation; committees, tribunals, investigations . . . tiny piece by tiny piece she reconstructed the Imperial Senate, and the far more powerful Galactic Senate of which it was the stripped-down vestiges.

It became not just something to do, but a nod to the future - to the possibility of a future, when they might actually succeed in overthrowing the Empire and reinstituting democratic government. She almost believed that one day they would need this information.

Eventually she found Han's charts and was able to start putting together the cohorts and caucuses, the systems that had chosen to band together to elect their representatives, and the worlds too tiny or remote to send anyone at all, that had been loosely covered by a senator from a neighboring system.

Han still never asked what she was working on, but somehow she didn't get the feeling that he didn't care. He was just leaving her to it. She jumped a little inside every time he came into the lounge, or into the cockpit if it was her watch and she'd taken her work there, but obviously that had nothing to do with the senate. It wasn't as if her memories were classified.

(Actually, some of them probably were; in the sense that it was likely that she'd known classified government information and could no longer remember which bits were classified. It all went onto the datapad, for good or ill.)

Han's idea of spending their evenings together turned out to be not at all what she expected, and really . . . nice. Still, she was on edge, a feeling that seemed to increase the longer they were on the ship, and she couldn't put her finger on why. It wasn't that she didn't trust Han or that she was afraid of him - she never had been and she wasn't now. That he wasn't taking their relationship further surprised her -

\- which was unfair to him when he had been patient with her so many times before (when he wasn't mad about something) -

\- but she was adapting to that. Mostly.

He made her feel so comfortable that eventually she stopped worrying about what was going to happen next (though that unease came back at the strangest times). So comfortable that it took a while for her to start to wonder whether he was disappointed, or would give up on her. He'd said that thing, about waiting to be asked - maybe he was expecting her to . . . ?

Ask?

She wasn't really sure she could picture doing that, in any way that wouldn't feel like she was copying a scene from a bad holo.

In the meantime she typed away. Typed, stared into space frowning for a while trying to remember more details, and then typed some more. And on typing breaks, puttered around the ship still trying to help keep things in order, around the profusion of tools and oily rags and other fire and tripping hazards with which Han and Chewie littered the corridors. Trying to compensate for being an extra body, and an extra body with no luggage at that - which basically meant washing her own clothes as often as possible so she didn't have to borrow Han's _all_ the time.

Her cycle had hit in week two; _that_ had been fun. If Han had any reason to notice the rapid depletion of paper supplies on the ship, he never mentioned it.

Her entire position was so absurd in its way, really, that she found herself talking to her parents about it. Her father had been familiar with the ragtag nature of things in the Rebellion, with needs-must measures and spur of the moment evacuations, but _still_. A month on a smuggler's ship? With the smuggler? She wasn't really sure his tolerance for ragtag would have survived that.

 _Also we seem to be in a relationship now,_ was one of the many conversations she'd never have had with her living mother, but now had, with almost hysterical cheer, with her mother's ghost. _It's all very innocent except I guess technically we're living together. And there's the fact that I'm rarely wearing underwear. But don't let that worry you, Mother, it's just that I don't have any most of the time._

Yes. This was fine.

The only time Han ever questioned her spurts of domesticity was the night when he went into his cabin, came back out again a moment later, and asked, "Did you wash the sheets on my bunk?"

"Yes," Leia said in the midst of typing a sentence about parliamentary procedure.

"Okay." He lingered there in the lounge doorway for a moment before asking " . . . why?"

She shrugged. "I had the autovalet running. It was there."

"Right." Another pause. "You know you don't have to . . . tidy things."

"I know," she said. "But I can't help with whatever you were doing earlier -"

"You'd die," he said.

"Well, exactly. So."

"Okay," he said. "Um - thanks."

It wasn't until much later that she realized washing the sheets on his bunk could possibly be taken as some kind of overture. Like that she was thinking about sharing his bunk with him?

Oh well.

 

That uneasy feeling, meanwhile, just grew and grew. It would go away sometimes - or more likely she'd forget about it - but then it would be back, a lump in the pit of her stomach, a strange dizziness, a feeling of just _wrong_. Being close to Han sometimes helped, but it was still there . . .

Then one night she was lying on her bunk, staring at the bottom of the bunk above and trying to fall asleep, and that feeling of _wrong wrong wrong_ built to such a fever pitch that before she knew what she was doing she was on her feet and running to Han's cabin, pounding on the door twice hard before her brain caught up with her, then a few more times, softly.

He opened the door looking bleary but alarmed. "What? What's wrong?"

She was staring past him into the cabin and all she could say was, "I - I don't - I -" and then all of a sudden what came out was, "I don't think Bespin is safe."

He looked back at her in confusion that she could completely understand, since she couldn't explain why she'd said that either. Except that the feeling in her stomach had unclenched a bit, as if in relief.

"What?" Han asked again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what - I was just, I felt so - it's just a bad feeling, I don't . . ."

He reached for her now and rubbed his hands up and down her arms, looking slightly more awake. "Were you having a bad dream?" he asked.

"No, I wasn't asleep." She shook her head. "I can't explain it - I've just been feeling _wrong_ the last few days, and I don't know why. I didn't know I was even going to say that, about Bespin, but now that I have . . . I have a bad feeling about it. Like we shouldn't go there."

"We don't really have a choice," Han said, but not ungently. He was still rubbing her arms. "Without a working hyperdrive we can only get so far on the fuel and supplies we have. It's our best bet."

"I know," she said miserably. "I know we're stuck."

"Lando's a good guy," he assured her. "It'll be all right - look, come here." He pulled her close and tucked her head against his chest. "Try not to worry."

She looked at the fabric of his shirt, at her fingers twisted in his sleeve, and said another thing she hadn't known she was going to say. "Can I stay here tonight?"

There was a short, absolutely still and silent pause before he hurried to say, "'Course you can; come on, come here." He tugged her inside and palmed the door closed. "Do you want to - ah - do you need the lights?"

She hadn't even registered that he must have turned on the dim cabin lighting when she woke him up. There was little to navigate, though - the bunk on one wall, nothing in the middle of the floor. She shook her head.

"All right." He hit the wall panel and plunged the cabin into darkness except for the little glowing guide strip over the door. She watched in that dim shadow, still close to the doorway, as he tugged into order and then folded back the covers on the bunk before sliding in. Once he was mostly under the blankets he made a gesture she could sort of see. "Want to . . ."

Of the myriad things she hadn't thought through, it finally occurred to her to wonder whether he saw this as an invitation to do more than lie next to each other. Or whether he even believed her story about being afraid? Maybe he thought it was just an excuse to move things along . . .

She slipped into the bunk beside him, feeling wrongfooted and awkward, but he reached for her and settled her - head on his shoulder, his arms around her. She was very, very still as she felt his lips brush against her hairline. 

"You're cold," he said, and his voice was thick. She hadn't even noticed that she was shivering, but she felt the chill now and let him pull her even closer.

"That's better," she whispered.

"Good."

While she was wondering if it would be rude to put her cold nose against his shoulder, she suddenly remembered him talking about not getting involved. He seemed comfortable, but had he actually done this many times before? She thought about the nervous-looking way he'd straightened the blankets. Maybe not?

He was gone when she woke up. At first she worried that he'd gone to sleep somewhere else, that she'd chased him from his bed, but the chrono told her it was morning and he'd probably just gotten up already. She crept from the cabin a bit sheepishly, hurrying to the crew bunks to change and pull herself together.

When she found him in the lounge he just smiled, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and offered her some breakfast. Then he and Chewie worked and she worked and . . . maybe she hadn't changed anything after all. Maybe there was nothing strange.

But then they were cleaning up from dinner, a bit later than usual, and she yawned and Han said, "You didn't get a lot of sleep last night. Leave the pot this once, let's go to bed."

" _Han_ ," she hissed, looking after Chewie's retreating back as he headed for the cockpit. She could feel her color rising.

"What?" he asked. Then he turned and looked at her and, presumably, saw her reddening face. "Oh - you're not worried about Chewie, are you? He understands."

She didn't even ask _what_ Chewie understood. "I didn't - I mean, are we going to -"

She stopped when he wrapped his arms loosely around her. "Hey," he said. "I think you slept a little better, didn't you?"

She didn't ask how he knew whether she usually slept well or not. "Yes," she had to admit.

His tone turned just the littlest bit teasing, a smile tugging at his mouth. "And we even got your feet warm, eventually."

Fighting an answering smile, she nodded. 

"And," he added more quietly, "I liked you being there."

She tipped her face forward the remaining distance and leaned her forehead against his chest, sliding her arms around his waist.

"So come to bed, sweetheart," he said, close to her ear.

She gave him a tiny nod.

The next night she went to bed before him and, with her heart pounding just a bit, went and lay down in his bunk. She'd almost managed to fall asleep when her closed eyes recognized the light growing dimmer, and then she heard the rustling of his clothes as he undressed, and felt the bunk shift as he climbed over her to lie against the wall. She wondered if she should say anything, but he wrapped himself around her and said, "Sorry, go back to sleep," so she just put her arm over him and tried to obey.

She'd thought there was no way she would ever . . . well, _ask_ ; but the days went on and she started to think more and more about whether he could possibly be getting what he wanted out of all this. Was he bored? Would he decide the whole thing wasn't working out, and not want to continue things after . . . whatever would happen when they got to Bespin? Did he see her as a stupid kid because she wasn't making some kind of a move - especially with her sharing his bed every night?

. . . was _he_ not making a move _because_ he saw her as a stupid kid?

Finally one night, while she was lying against his chest on the bunk with a truly terrible holo running on a datapad propped in front of them, she screwed up her courage and said, "Han?"

"Yeah?"

His body always reacted when he spoke to her (which she loved); this time, a little tightening of his hand on her upper arm.

In quick bursts she forced out, "If you want more - we can."

He was quiet for long enough that she had time to think about how stupid that sounded. Finally he said, "You asking because you want that, or 'cause you think I do?"

"Not sure," she said, too fast to think about it. 

His hand tightened again, giving her a little hug toward his body. "Well, it can wait till you are," he said.

Silently she cursed her tongue for getting ahead of her head. "I didn't mean . . ." she started. She pushed herself up a bit so that she could look at him. "You don't have to be careful with me."

"I'm not," he said easily.

"I'm not fragile."

"I don't think you are." He took her hand. "But that doesn't mean - we still have to be on the same wavelength here. I wouldn't want anything with you that you didn't want."

She was probably never going to be this brave again, so she might as well get it all out now. "What if I won't know what I want until I try?"

"I don't think that's how it works," he said. "Look, I know it matters that I'm leaving. I think it matters a lot - it matters to me, too. I think it'll feel different when - if -"

"When you come back," she said firmly.

"Yeah. Then."

Thoughtfully, she reached out and put her palm against his chest. "You want to wait until then?"

"Sweetheart, sometimes I really don't want that at all," he said. "But - I think it might be the best thing, yeah."

She frowned.

He bent down to catch her eye. "Are you - _disappointed_?"

Was that - ? She leaned over abruptly and kissed him, using her hand on his shirt to tug him closer. _Yes_ , she thought, feeling how easy it was to melt against him. _Yes, maybe, yes._ "I think so," she said, sounding as breathless as a holo actress after all.

"Well," he said, in between little kisses, "that's good."

She supposed it was.

She woke before him the next morning. He had turned on his side in his sleep, away from her, and she lay for a while looking at his back disappearing under the blankets. Then she rolled onto her side as well and slid closer, fitting her body against his as well as she could given their difference in size. He didn't wake, and she lay there for what seemed like a long while, letting herself feel - his back against her breasts, the front of her thighs against the backs of his, the hair on his arm under her fingertips where his shirt sleeve had ridden up. Yes, she could want this.

Wanting to be closer, she carefully wrapped one leg over his and slid her hand down onto his stomach. He did wake then, but he only took her hand and brought it to his lips before tucking it against his stomach again, still held in his. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered. "It's still early."

"Good." He lifted her hand and kissed it again. "I love you. Go back to sleep."

She very unexpectedly felt like she might cry, but luckily he couldn't see her anyway and she could just nestle against his back and at least pretend to do just that.


	29. into the trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia was right.

**Part 29: Anoat system, 3 ABY**

 

The thing about Leia's worry was, it was kind of contagious.

Not that Han really distrusted Lando that much. Sure, Lando had reason to be mad at him, but . . . that was small time stuff. He might cheat if he could; he might choose his words carefully so as to avoid really promising what he seemed to be promising. That was Lando's style, and Han would have to be alert and watch his back if he didn't want to leave Bespin considerably poorer than when he arrived. But that wasn't the kind of thing Leia was worried about, with this nervousness that occasionally ramped up into bouts of complete, if temporary, terror. There was nothing that could worry her that much except the Empire, and when it came down to it, Han just couldn't see Lando getting involved with them.

Still. She worried, and so he worried. Not that all the consequences of her worry were bad - Leia, warm and freely affectionate, tucked against him in his bed every night was a comfort he hadn't imagined would happen on this little trip - but he still didn't like to see her so twisted up.

Plus, well. When someone was so sure, it was hard not to start thinking they might be right after all.

But he tried to push all that aside, because there was nothing else to do about it. They wouldn't make it to anywhere else. Risking whatever Leia thought might be on Bespin was sure better than slowly starving or suffocating in open space with no fuel. And since there was nothing else to do, what she needed from him was _not_ him worrying along with her. What she needed was for him to make the wait, till they found out for sure what would be meeting them at the end of the journey, bearable.

So he kept things light during the day, and he helped Chewie teach her Shyriiwook, and he held her at night, and he tried not to follow her down the path of dread.

And she was all right, a lot of the time. She smiled when she saw him. That in itself was something he hadn't really gotten over. She seemed healthy; not so lean and worn out as she sometimes got. Their long slow trip wasn't ideal in most ways, but it _was_ more or less a forced rest for all of them, time out from the war. She was probably as close to Leia before the Death Star, Leia on Alderaan, as he'd ever seen.

But he could see in her eyes that she was counting the days and the miles just like he was. Dreading whatever woke her up at night screaming _danger_ in her mind, but dreading him, too. His choice, his leaving. Her smile sometimes stalled, and he knew she was thinking about it.

On the last night - the night they both knew that, if his calculations had been right, they'd reach Cloud City the next day - she stayed at the lounge table playing with a fork after Chewie had left from dinner to take his last watch, after Han got up to start cleaning up. He could tell she was working up to saying something so he left her to it for a while.

"Han," she finally said.

_There we go._ He was casual about turning toward her, still wiping a plate. "Yeah?"

There was a stretch of nervous quiet, but then she lifted her head and looked him carefully in the eye. "I'm going to come with you," she said.

That wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting, and he was caught off guard and confused. "What?" he asked.

"After you get the hyperdrive fixed." She was looking at him so deliberately that he could tell she really wanted to look away. "When you go to pay Jabba. I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not," he said immediately. "Jabba's is no place for you."

"Han -"

"I'm not talking about you being fragile, or a princess, or any of that," he said, cutting off the most obvious objections at the knees. "Women only go into Jabba's for maybe two reasons, and everybody knows you're not a bounty hunter."

"What other women go into Jabba's for is their business," she said.

"But not always their choice," he stressed. "I know you can handle yourself but it's not the kind of place where they're likely to give you a chance."

"Still," she persisted. "If we brought Luke with us - just some backup, to make sure you can get out of there safely . . ."

"Sweetheart, there's not a lot that can get you out of Jabba's safely if that isn't what Jabba wants." He softened that statement by coming to sit next to her, taking her hand and letting their clasped hands rest on her leg. "And you don't even know where Luke is. You're getting ahead of yourself - we need to figure out how we're even going to get you back to the fleet. Where they are. That's the first thing, after we get the hyperdrive working. Then we'll see, you know, we'll . . ."

"Do the next thing," Leia murmured. She turned to look at him, her face very close to his. "I'm not forgetting about it," she said. "Just - all right, we'll talk about it when we get there."

"We will," he said. It wasn't a lie - they almost certainly would talk about it, unless he and Chewie snuck off in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. Which might be the best idea, but the guy who could have done that was a few weeks back. Now he would want the chance to say goodbye in case it was the last time he saw her; and he'd want to leave her not completely pissed at him in case it wasn't.

He could just imagine surviving his encounter with Jabba (heroically, in this vision) and coming back to a cold shoulder from Leia because he'd ditched her. No thanks.

So sure, they'd talk. And he'd convince her that no one who cared about her would ever want her near that place. If Luke _was_ around, hopefully he'd help. Nobody from Tatooine liked the Hutts.

It'd be fine. And then he'd go.

When they went to bed that night, Leia settled next to him with a look on her face that made him worry, for a moment, that she was about to start something they couldn't finish. He still wasn't sure what she actually _wanted_ or what was going through her head, but he knew she was worked up and worried and upset, and that could lead to . . . anything. He kissed her a couple of times, short and sweet, and then tucked her close and pulled the blankets over her shoulder in a way that he hoped felt final.

One thing he'd barely done, this whole time, was kiss her while they were in bed. Somehow that seemed like it might open a door they were trying not to go through.

He talked to her though, every night, whether either of them was completely awake or not. Somehow it was a habit he'd gotten into. He called her sweet while he rubbed her back and ran his fingers through her hair; he said just anything, whatever came into his head. He didn't worry too much about what she said or didn't say in return. Once it would have bothered him, back when they were on Hoth and he was trying to draw _anything_ out of her, any kind of admission that she felt the way he thought she did. Now . . . for the time being it didn't seem to matter so much. The way she looked at him, kissed him, curled up in bed with him, slipped her hand into his - she was telling him enough. Someday, when he wasn't about to leave, maybe she'd put it into words, but for the time being he was all right. He knew.

Her hand was cold; that was one of the last things he registered that night. He fell asleep with her fingers slipped up his shirtsleeve, warming on his arm.

She was quiet and pale in the morning, leaving his bed early and hurrying to wash and braid her hair and dress in her Hoth whites. Looking at her, it was eerily as if nothing in the last four weeks had actually happened. The ease she'd found a little bit of was gone again. She was looking at him with something like distrust.

But here was Cloud City, and they had to face whatever it was going to throw at them.

 

Which, at first, didn't seem like much. Lando set them up in a luxury suite, he sent food and clothes and people to run their errands and carry messages back and forth to the shipyard. It should have been nice. It _was_ nice, to be off the ship (even Han could spend only so much time on his beloved _Falcon_ without being able to get off at all) and able to stretch their legs, bathe in a real tub, sleep in a real bed.

There were, technically, three beds. One for Chewie, of course. Leia blushed a lot at Han's suggestion that there was no reason for the two of them to stop sharing now, but the truth was, now that they were here planetside her fear was worse, not better. The fact that nothing bad had happened didn't seem to have calmed her at all. She was on a knife's edge, and although she was inclined to blame Han a little bit for that - because he didn't believe that anything was wrong - she was also practically vibrating with her need for reassurance and comfort. So after Chewie had gone to bed, she wordlessly went into one of the remaining bedrooms, turned down and disturbed the covers and punched down the pillows a little, and then went into the last bedroom and started to change.

Han instinctively turned his back until he heard her climbing into the bed, and said nothing about her efforts to make the other one look slept in. They were back in the real world, after all. And Lando had needed to be told Leia's name like he needed to be told what color his own cape was. She was famous, and gossip paid even better than Imperial rewards if you found the right buyer.

Han had addressed that, briefly and firmly, with Lando while Leia was bathing. "You never saw her," he said.

Lando raised his eyebrows exaggeratedly. "Saw who? She looks like the Princess of Alderaan, but it can't be her. She's dead."

Han gave him a look.

"Ask anybody," Lando said. "Anybody . . . _official_. The official story is she's the only person on whom the Empire keeps raising its bounty _after_ she's dead. The Empire's ways are mysterious and not to be questioned. But in any case, if she's dead she clearly can't be here."

"Well," Han had said. "All right."

The truth was . . . the truth was, he did believe Leia. Or rather, he sensed it, too. Something. Something tense, something a little too perfect, something . . . just not right, underneath all this shiny luxury. But like he'd told her back on the _Falcon_ \- what could they do about it? Wait and see. Get the best night's sleep they could in the hotel's great big bed. Both of them huddled in the middle, him curled around Leia's back, as if the giant thing were no bigger than his bunk on the ship. Her jaw tight in the moonlit dark until she fell asleep.

She had a nightmare. He knew she had them - even if she'd never said, he didn't know how anyone could have lived Leia's life and _not_ had some pretty serious nightmares - but it had never woken him up before. Her nightmares seemed like they were usually quiet things that happened all inside her head and kept her up a while afterwards, if she woke up at all. But this time she was kicking, as if she were trying to get away from something, and her breathing was so loud and ragged that it probably would have woken him even if he hadn't been kicked in the shins.

He'd never needed to intervene before, and he wasn't really sure how. "Leia," he whispered, rubbing her arms. Was he supposed to wake her up, or not? "Hey, it's Han, you're all right. You're fine."

She started hard, her whole body jolting into a tense, muscle-locked stillness, and she grabbed onto his arm. It took him a moment to realize she still wasn't really awake. A moment later she relaxed, still holding his arm, and it appeared the whole thing was over. She seemed to be peacefully asleep again.

That doubt still poked at the back of his mind. _She's not usually this nervous_ . . .

 

And, well, yeah. So she was right. Very, very right.

 

Putting himself between her and Vader was instinct - instinct, and stupid, but if they were both going to die he would at least make that one gesture. He didn't expect them to live long enough for the door to close, shutting them all in with Vader and Fett. Looked like Vella was right about Vader working with the bounty hunters, for all the good it was going to do them now. He definitely didn't expect them to live long enough for Leia to fix Vader with that _look_ and ask, "What do you want?"

Now that her fears had come true, Leia was stalwart. Not scared anymore - Han had taken over for her there - but rigid and steely and making herself as tall as she possibly could be.

To his surprise, Vader not only did not kill them immediately, but actually answered her. "I want Skywalker."

Han had heard a lot of stories about Vader, but had never actually heard his voice. And now he wondered how anyone who had heard it was still sane. But more importantly - what?

Reflexively he looked at Leia, who was looking at him, too. Her eyebrow quirked just a little to show that she too was confused. It was a hilariously normal moment to be taking place in front of the most terrifying man - if he even was - in the galaxy.

"We don't have him," Leia said, sounding more baffled than either frightened or angry, now.

"I can see that," Vader intoned. "Where is he?"

"No idea," Leia replied.

Han suddenly found himself thinking of Luke - Luke on Abrax, Luke climbing into his X-Wing, Luke injured in the snow on Hoth . . . Vader seemed to be looking particularly at him now, a gaze that felt probing even with his face (if he had one) completely obscured. Han felt a little dizzy and a little sick. He shook that off, taking a half step closer to Leia. "Me either," he said, trying not to sound like he was about to pass out.

Vader didn't say a word, but turned his head and looked at Chewbacca. Chewie didn't say anything either. This went on for a while.

Finally Vader said, "You are lying."

"We're not," Leia said. "As it happens. But it doesn't matter, because even if we did know where he was none of us would tell you."

"You have not grown any less foolish, Princess," Vader said.

"I'm not sure I'd like the results either way," she replied.

Another pause. Han twitched with wanting to put himself in front of Leia, but didn't do it because he was afraid any move would anger the Dark Lord staring them down.

"None of you will leave this place until I have Skywalker," Vader said finally.

Han couldn't help glancing at Leia again. _Until?_ Sure, the implied promise to let them go once he had Luke was probably a lie, but . . . he wasn't going to just have them all killed now? Or . . . 

"Baron Calrissian," Vader said, and suddenly everyone remembered that Lando was there. He was looking sweaty around the brow.

"Escort the princess back to her room," Vader instructed. 

The fact that he meant to separate them hit Han harder than it should have, but somehow he truly hadn't expected it. 

"The Wookiee may go with her," Vader added, and suddenly Han felt both better and a lot worse. At least now his dread was all for himself.

Chewie protested with an angry growl, but the doors had opened and in seconds there were ten blasters pointed at him, and Han doubted they were on stun. "It's all right, buddy," he said quickly. "Go with Lando and the princess, make sure she's safe. I can handle this."

That was an epic lie, but he thought Chewie would probably forgive it.

"If you want information," Leia said, and now there was the smallest tremor in her voice. "Don't you think I have more access -"

"You have no idea what I want," Vader said. "Other than Skywalker. Can you supply him?"

"No," said Leia. Her eyes darted to Han in apology. There was nothing she could do against ten troopers and Vader, either.

"Then you will follow instructions, if you do not want anyone to be harmed." Vader raised a hand, and a few sets of troopers made to follow Leia, Lando, and Chewie.

Leia and Chewie each threw Han one more desperate look, each of which he returned with as calm a nod as he could manage, and then they were gone. And he was remembering more and more of the stories he'd heard about Vader - and that weird moment when he'd suddenly had all those memories of Luke. As if something was bringing them to the forefront. And . . . he should have been worried that he knew where the fleet was, or how many people were still on some of the auxiliary bases, or the clearance codes; but his mind went instead straight to all the other things that he dreaded Vader being able to pull from him. Stuff that was just . . . _his_ , that would feel like an invasion . . . His childhood on Corellia, the home. Chewie, Chewie's declared life debt and his friendship and his family. The small, petty things Han'd done. The soft things he said to Leia when she was falling asleep. Things Vader had no _right_ . . .

Vader had just been watching him quietly, either sizing him up or letting him work himself into a frenzy, or both. At last he said, "Captain Solo. We must have a talk."

"I'm not going to tell you where Luke is," Han said, as bravely as he could. "Mostly because I don't want to, but also 'cause I don't know."

"'Talk' may have been the wrong word," Vader said. "It should matter very little whether you talk at all."

Oh, that did not sound good.

Vader gestured, and another pair of stormtroopers pointed their blasters at Han.

"Follow them," Vader instructed.

Having nothing else to do, Han did. To a room with an observation window - and hell, he hoped Lando wasn't on the other side of it, and he _really_ hoped Leia and Chewie weren't. Because it sure looked like the Empire had made some improvements to that electrical interrogation grid of theirs since his Academy days.

He would not panic. At least not until panic was his only remaining option.

 

Pain, and fuzziness. Enough pain that he couldn't really remember _why_ there was so much pain, except that somebody did it to him, but he couldn't remember what they wanted. Or maybe he never knew in the first place.

There was Chewie, that was good, and then he was at least not trying to stand up anymore. And Leia, Leia leaning over him and brushing his hair back. It hurt to be touched, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

When Lando came in, he remembered enough to know that he was pissed. The mention of Luke woke something confusing/familiar - _was_ that what they wanted? And they were using him and Leia and Chewie as bait, but - how would that work?

He decided he didn't really have to understand that right now. He just had to kill Lando.

Which was maybe a mistake, because he hurt even more after the troopers clobbered him, and his head was even fuzzier. He barely noticed they were gone until probably a while had passed, and he was lying on the slab again, and he realized his head was propped up against Leia's chest and she was talking to Chewie very quietly. Could she understand him? Her lessons had been going all right. Her lessons . . .

More pieces of the day, the last few days, slotted into place as Han's head started to clear. He ran a fingertip over Leia's white pant leg. "You weren't wearing this before," he slurred.

"Lando" - she said his name like it was a curse - "took me back to the suite for a while, with an escort of troopers so I didn't get rowdy. He said we were just waiting for you. I changed, I thought . . . " She gave a little cough. "I looked ridiculous in those clothes."

"Looked nice," he managed to say.

"Well I wasn't going to keep wearing them, anyway." Her fingers stroking through his hair were gentler than her tone. "They'd taken Chewie somewhere else - straight here, I guess. I don't know. I don't understand anything. Except Lando wanted me to think everything was fine."

"Don't get it," Han mumbled. "How's Luke even s'posed to know we're here?"

"None of it makes any sense."

Chewie agreed with a soft rumble.

"Did they really not ask you anything?" she asked.

He shook his head. He was starting to hurt a little bit less. He thought maybe he must have been asleep for a while. "Vader even left the room, I think. Was just . . . for fun?"

"I don't know." She was starting to sound fatalistic, and that scared him. She'd been angry before. He liked her better angry.

Something else was different though, she was - the way she was holding him - She'd been so uncertain this whole time, on the way from Hoth, just finding her feet in this whole thing and always a little nervous, always clocking his reactions. That was - he didn't see that anymore. Her uncertainty was gone. She was -

Well, she knew this. Unlike with their tentative coupling, this was - she was the one who'd been here before. She had confidence to spare for him because she knew where she was.

Leia Organa, Official Group Leader of Surviving Imperial Capture. 

He was grateful. He found her hand, and held it. "We're all still alive," he said. "Could be worse."

He felt her lips on his forehead. "Could be worse," she agreed.

 

It was worse.

 

He was thinking more clearly by the time they were brought to the carbon freeze chamber, but the sight of the equipment, that . . . pit . . . Panic brought the fuzziness back. He tried to hold on to control and think, try to make the best . . . 

Why, why were Leia and Chewie even here? Pure cruelty? Or were they planning to freeze them, too, once Han was out of commission?

_Save it_ , he tried to make Chewie understand, _you can come after me later, they're giving me to Fett, I know you'll come after me, but you have to save your fight for if they try to take her, or you._ Leia, so pale, all the fight gone out of her, looking scared and sad, clinging to Chewie. The taste of her mouth, in case it was the last . . .

"I love you," she said, and all he could think was _Oh sweetheart, you didn't need to be worried about that_. And _don't look scared, she's watching, they're watching, Lando that bastard is watching, don't let her know_. . .

Then, nothing.


	30. the pause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some journeys are interrupted for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This early chapter is brought to you by the fact that I'm traveling on Friday.

**Part 30: Cloud City and _Home One_ , 3 ABY**

 

Leia had never said the words "I don't understand" so many times in her life. And that was saying something.

She'd never understood why Vader would be working with bounty hunters to track _Han_ of all people, though it was clear now she should have taken him more seriously when he told her about it. She didn't understand why Vader was so interested in them in the first place, especially since capturing her on behalf of the Empire apparently wasn't his first goal. She didn't understand why he'd had Han tortured without interrogating him. Or why no one had even tried to interrogate her. Or how anyone thought this would bring Luke into the Empire's clutches, not to mention how it had actually _worked_.

She didn't understand how Luke had ended up in Cloud City. She really didn't understand how she'd known he was in trouble, or where to find him.

She also didn't understand the nagging feeling that told her she'd _known_ Vader was on Bespin waiting for them.

None of it made sense. Not Vader wanting to transport Luke . . . by carbon freeze? Instead of just killing him? Not Vader freezing Han to hand him over to a bounty hunter. Not making her and Chewie watch.

Nothing made any sense.

If you'd asked her whether she was angry with Vader - well, obviously. But she was always angry with Vader. Vader existed for people to be angry at. Vader had helped destroy her life, her entire world, and she had to hope that someday he'd be destroyed. But that existed in her background, a fact that just was.

For the moment, she was busy being angry - _livid_ \- with Lando.

He was trying to make her understand, but she'd already established that was impossible because she couldn't understand anything. He kept trying to talk to her, but after spending hours bent over Han, wondering how badly he was injured, wondering whether any of them would live long enough for it to matter; and now having spent an hour bent over Luke trying to calm him down and stabilize him - she was in no mood to listen to Lando.

Even when he'd claimed he was "helping" them chase down the bounty hunter and rescue Han. Chewie was flying the ship. As far as she was concerned, Lando was a stowaway. He was infuriating cargo. Someday she'd maybe consider whether it was possible for him to redeem himself enough to be deemed a person.

Maybe.

Maybe she was a little terrified of what she'd feel like when the rage wore off.

Luke's call had started as a nagging urge in the back of her mind, as if she'd forgotten something ( _Go back go back_ ) and had become a clear, fully-formed certainty. She simply knew precisely where he was, and that he was in pain and burning with exertion, at the edge of his ability to hold on; that he needed her. In the grand scheme of things, it was just one more thing she didn't understand.

His injuries . . .

Well, she'd spent the better part of a day trying to keep Han calm, not to let him know how worried she was about the condition he'd been left in. So at least she was in practice; she'd managed, just about, not to react when she saw the cauterized stump of Luke's wrist. He was shaking so hard - terror, shock, she'd never seen him like this. Even after she'd settled him in the medical bunk he hadn't stopped shaking and she'd hardly had time to reassure him, what with the Imperials chasing them and the hyperdrive not working.

And then of course he'd dragged himself out of the bunk, not that she could blame him. She wouldn't have been able to rest while they were in a firefight, either.

Once they got into hyperspace though - well, first there was the bad news: Chewie's angry, despairing mewl that in the fight they'd lost the bounty hunter's ship. Which she had to have known, deep down. They could hardly expect him to have waited obligingly while they got rid of the Imperial fighters.

_Find him_ , Chewie said, or something like that.

"Yes," she said quietly. "We will."

"So where are we headed now?" Lando asked.

Leia turned a slow glare in his direction, but along the way she saw Luke standing behind her. Shaking like a leaf still, his injured arm cradled against his chest and his face starting to bleed again.

"The Alliance fleet," she said briefly. "Luke needs a doctor -"

"Wait," Luke said, but then he looked at her face and shut up. He'd already asked twice where Han was, and she'd kept saying, "not now, I'll explain when we're away."

"We'll decide what to do from there," she concluded. She narrowed her eyes at Lando. "You can help Chewie fly us there, if he thinks you can be trusted."

Lando raised his hands in what he probably thought was a calming gesture. It made her want to punch him in the teeth. "Look, Leia, I swear -"

"Come on, Luke," she said, surrendering the copilot's chair. "We need to get you lying down."

"I can help," Luke protested.

"There's no need." Arm around his shoulders, she led him back to the _Falcon_ 's little medical bunk. "All we can do now is head back to Sullust."

"Sullust?"

She paused in her tracks. "Is that not where the fleet is anymore?"

"I don't know?"

His confusion worried her. He'd presumably been with the fleet this whole time, so why would he not know where they were?

"Come on," she repeated more gently. "It'll be all right."

"Leia, _where's Han_?"

She hesitated for only a second. He'd know soon enough, and she knew he wouldn't rest without an explanation. "Vader gave him to a bounty hunter. To deliver to Jabba the Hutt."

" _Jabba_ ," Luke echoed, his face twisted with disgust as he sat down on the medical bunk. "Why?"

"You know about Han's debt to him. The bounty."

"But I mean, why would Vader -" Luke coughed, hard. "Why would he -"

"I don't know," she said. The fight was ebbing out of her, and she was beginning to understand that she was right to fear what would take its place. "I don't know anything." She sounded like a lost child. 

"But he's alive? Han?"

She coaxed him back onto the bunk. "Yes, he's alive. Lie down, we need to fix the compression wrapping on your arm. And you could use some oxygen."

"So he just went with this bounty hunter?"

She killed a few moments arranging the oxygen cannula under his nose, checking the levels and turning on the flow. "No. Vader had him frozen in carbonite. Like they use in the gas mines." She bit back any further explanation. There were things Luke didn't need to know.

"But - _why_?"

She placed a quelling hand on the center of his chest. "Try to calm down, your readings are all over the place and I'm worried you're going into shock."

Luke closed his eyes and said, with a sudden bitterness she'd never imagined hearing from him, "I'm light years past shock, Leia."

She took a deep breath and chanced asking, "Luke, why are you here?"

"You and Han were in trouble. In pain."

"But - how did you know? No one knew where we were, how did -"

"The Force," Luke said in a whisper. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "The Force told me. I heard you both, saw you, in a vision. You were in pain . . . the Force told me where you were."

"Luke . . . "

He grabbed her hand with his remaining one. "I didn't go with the fleet when we left Hoth. I went . . . Leia, when we were on Hoth, when I was caught out that night - I heard Ben. Ben Kenobi."

"You were unconscious," she said. Her spine was prickling.

"It was real," he insisted. "I know I passed out, but this was before that. He told me to go to the Dagobah system, to find a Jedi Master named Yoda."

"Yoda." The prickles were stronger now. "My father - my father mentioned Yoda. How did you know about him?"

Luke had closed his eyes again and turned his head away, when she mentioned her father. Which made as much sense as anything else today, which was to say, none. When Luke spoke again, he was looking at the wall. "I told you. Ben."

"Ben's not dead?"

"He is. He's - in the Force."

She didn't know whether she believed him or thought he was delirious, and she didn't know which frightened her more.

"I've been with Yoda," Luke added. "He's training - was training me to be a Jedi. I don't know if that's still even possible."

"I'm sure it is," Leia said, trying to soothe him without really knowing what the problem was. His hand? "Are you going back to him?"

"I promised I would. He didn't believe me. But I have a lot of - questions. He's probably the only one who can answer them." He suddenly turned his head back to her, eyes wide open. "But forget that now. How are we going to find Han?"

Leia had been feeling it happen for a few minutes now without recognizing it for what it was - the weakness in her knees, the empty feeling in her stomach and chest, the shaking. As she said, "I don't know," one more time, and heard rather than felt the tears come into her voice, she finally realized what was happening. All the adrenaline was gone and she was left with . . .

_Han . . ._

She bent and hid her face on Luke's shoulder before he could see her cry.

"Oh, Leia." Awkwardly he patted her head. "He . . . he hurt you. Didn't he."

She shook her head and said, "No one hurt me." It seemed impossible, but technically it was true. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. When we find Han."

That was something else. Not that she thought Luke needed to be filled in on the specific details, or that he needed to know she'd been sharing Han's bunk. But surely she should explain that things had changed between her and Han? Somehow?

. . . maybe Chewie would tell him.

"That painkiller you gave me is starting to work," Luke mumbled. "Leia. I called you through the Force. And you heard me."

Startled, Leia sat up, rubbing her eyes. But should she be surprised? There was no other explanation for how she'd known where Luke was, was there?

"Just like I heard you and Han," Luke went on. "Even though you weren't trying to reach me, were you."

The last piece slotted into place in Leia's mind. Luke had heard, or felt, or seen their pain. Han's pain as he was tortured; her fear and worry. And Vader had known he would. That was the plan all along - _that_ was how they served as bait. Everything that had been done to them - all just so that their pain would draw Luke through the Force.

When she looked at Luke, he was looking back up at her with red-rimmed eyes. "That's why he did it," he said.

She nodded.

Luke started trying to sit up, and that was when Lando came in - hands held up in that appeasing gesture, starting to say her name. And that was when she screamed at him to get back to the cockpit, to stay away from her, and to come back when he knew where Han was and not before. It was several minutes before she realized she'd cursed at him in Corellian.

She'd had enough for one day.

 

By the time they docked with _Home One_ she was - not calmer, not about Han; but feeling somewhat less likely to murder Lando. She'd listened to as much of his protesting as she could take, then she'd listened to his suggestions, and now she was at least ready (she hoped) to tell Alliance command what she had to tell them.

Of course, first Luke was rushed off to medical bay. She thought she'd stabilized him well enough on the way, but he needed real treatment now and time would be of the essence if they were going to be able to get him a working prosthesis. 

General Rieekan met her himself, along with the requested medical team, but she did little more than clasp his hands as Luke was swept away, and offer a cursory, "This is Lando Calrissian, he's the administrator of Cloud City on Bespin."

"Or possibly 'was,'" Lando said. She ignored him.

Rieekan looked from her to Chewie to the _Falcon_ and asked, "Captain Solo?"

Leia had a mental flash of how this was supposed to be; Han bringing her back to the fleet so they could all argue about how to handle Jabba. She swallowed hard and said, "Captured. I have to brief all of you on a few matters. Now, if we can."

"Of course." Rieekan hesitated only for a second. "Will, ah, will Mr. Calrissian be joining -"

"No." Leia gave Chewie a parting glance, a promise, and hurried away toward the command center.

Mon Mothma was there, looking concerned, and Leia began speaking to her without waiting for the rest of command to trickle in. "There are things Commander Skywalker will have to fill in, when he can," she warned right off. "I take it he hasn't been with you, and he wasn't with us either, until the day before yesterday. It was - something to do with a Jedi Master. But he's been badly injured - he's lost a hand - and I don't know when he'll be able to speak with us."

Mon inclined her head in acceptance, as Admiral Ackbar entered the room with Dodonna on his heels.

Leia had spent the last hour of the journey formulating the best and briefest way to tell only the important parts of her story. She took a deep breath and began with, "During the evacuation of Echo Base, I was cut off from my transport . . ."

Though the rest of command drifted in while she was speaking, no one interrupted or said a word - though Dodonna started when she mentioned that the Force had apparently led Luke to Bespin - until she concluded with, "And so, Baron Calrissian and Chewbacca are prepared to fly the _Millennium Falcon_ under Alliance auspices to track down Captain Solo; or, if the Alliance is not willing to sponsor a rescue attempt, they will go on their own."

Rieekan was the first to speak. "But you believe Captain Solo is still alive?"

She'd left this part out of the story as extraneous to the main narrative. Leia nodded now and said, "For reasons we don't entirely understand, Vader wanted to capture Commander Skywalker and transport him, securely, to the Emperor. He planned to use Cloud City's carbon freezing equipment to do so -"

"Carbon freeze?" Dodonna interrupted now. "Almost no one's survived that."

Leia nodded again, carefully keeping her face as blank as she could. "So Vader tested the equipment on Captain Solo first. He was confirmed to have survived the hibernation process, and is being transported to Jabba the Hutt in that condition. So I believe he is safe from further physical harm until he enters Jabba's custody, at least."

"I don't understand how Skywalker got to Bespin in time if he wasn't already there," put in General Madine, a recent defector who was relatively new to Leia. "You say he was - off, somewhere?"

The question should have occurred to her, but it hadn't. "A vision of the future," she said, putting it together on the spot. "That's what it was - he must have received it while we were still on our way there ourselves."

"And he fought Vader?" Dodonna asked.

"At least to the point where he was able to escape," Leia said. "Again, until he was able to rendezvous with us before we escaped -" she'd also left out the part of the story where she was able to hear Luke through the Force "- I don't know much of what happened to him. He'll have to report himself."

"He will," Dodonna affirmed, shifting in his seat. "Doesn't sound like he _couldn't_ make the rendezvous, like you, so technically he was AWOL."

"I don't think that was his intention," Leia said, although . . . Luke had purposely missed the rendezvous in order to go somewhere else and do something else, so, yes, it was. She spread her hands. "Any further questions? I do . . . request - suggest - that Captain Solo was captured entirely because of his work with the Alliance, and that it would be appropriate . . ." She paused and took a deep breath. "That we owe it to him - that we should accept Chewbacca and Calrissian's offer of reconnaissance, and launch a rescue operation when he is located."

There was a still quiet in the room.

"I'm sympathetic," Rieekan said. "And I agree - Captain Solo's involvement with the Alliance is what led him into these straits. But whether we can afford a full-scale operation -"

"No," Leia said quickly. "No, I agree. We can't go to war with the Hutts over one individual. A small, targeted strike force - not readily identifiable with the Alliance -"

Rieekan was nodding. Across the table, Dodonna said, "Not sure I'd be able to keep the Pathfinders from defecting en masse if they heard we weren't trying to get him back. I'll vote yes."

"He's a good pilot," said Ackbar, which apparently counted as a yes.

Around the table, heads were nodding. They weren't there yet - the real moment of decision would come when - _when_ , Leia reinforced to herself with all the conviction she had - Chewie and Lando actually found Han, and it was an immediate matter of identifying resources to divert to his rescue. But for now, this had been so, so much easier than she'd even hoped. She sat down, before her weakening knees gave away her relief.

Luke spoke to command later that day, with a complicated mass of diagnostic wiring attached to his wrist and a med droid hovering as anxiously as a droid could hover. If they were slightly less receptive to him - Leia hadn't been wrong in realizing that he pretty much _had_ committed a textbook case of absent-without-leave - they were interested enough in his story about fighting Vader that he was mostly let off the hook. Temporarily demoted, but that was probably unavoidable; and according to medical, he wouldn't be flying with the Rogues again for a while anyway.

"There's something I should tell you . . ." he said as she was walking him back to medical bay, but then he stopped.

Leia frowned. "Luke, you can tell me anything. You know that."

He nodded thoughtfully. "You know - did you know Vader was a Jedi?"

"He's a Sith," Leia said automatically; memories arising of lowered voices in dim rooms, lessons that were not found in her books. "So is the Emperor. They're - they're the opposite of what the Jedi stood for. They use the dark side of the Force. A Jedi never would have."

"Then - then I think he started out as a Jedi. Before he became a . . . Sith."

"Why do you think that?" Leia asked.

"He told me."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"I know," Luke said. "But I think he might be . . . I don't know. Do you think it's possible? That someone could have been good once, and gone to the dark side?"

"Yes," she said immediately. "I mean - it would take more for some, but I think anyone could be corrupted."

"Not you."

She made a face. "I'm no better than anyone else."

"But you've been through so much, and you're still on the right side."

"People have been through worse. If you hadn't rescued me on the Death Star . . . if Vader had taken me and Chewie on Cloud City . . ." She shook her head. "You never know."

"So you think that's possible?" Luke asked. "That - that Vader wasn't always evil?"

Much as she really did believe that anyone could fall - asking her to see Vader in any other light strained credulity. "It's hard to imagine," she said. "I do think anyone can go bad, but - some people are just born that way. If he ever was a Jedi, he can't have been a sincere one."

"I suppose you're right," Luke said. The dejection in his voice worried and confused her, but maybe his arm was hurting. That mass of wires didn't exactly look comfortable, and she'd heard the nerve diagnostics required mostly weaning off pain medication.

She put an arm around him. "Come on, let's get you back."

 

So Chewie and Lando left in the _Falcon_ , on the same day Luke was getting fitted for his new hand. She didn't let herself think about it too much, but before they left Leia went aboard and stole the pillows and blankets from Han's bunk. She'd forced stoic optimism on herself until then, but the first time she went to bed in her freezing little quarters on _Home One_ with Han's blankets, Han's smell, wrapped around her, she cried for the first time since that once with Luke.

The next morning, she got up and looked for messages from Lando, and made notes about what kind of strike force would be best for Tatooine. And the next morning, and the next. And then the days could be counted in weeks, and she stopped getting out of bed so early. And occasionally, not at all.

"Jabba's base is on Tatooine, but he travels a lot," Lando had said. And finally, after three weeks, a message: _Found Jabba; on Nar Shaddaa. No Fett._

Five weeks, six.

_Tracking Jabba around the Rim; not going home yet. No sign of Fett._

_Fett maybe on Tatooine waiting for Jabba. Trying there._

Seven weeks. Two standard months. Leia felt too sick to eat, even though she knew not eating was most of the reason she felt so sick. At one point she heard an off-color remark, some lewd speculation about her and Han . . . but she could barely care. They'd see the truth - or the absence of anything for there to be a truth about - soon enough when the expected didn't happen. Or rather, when there was nothing expecting.

_Fett must be trying to track down Jabba too. Following some rumors._

Three months. Luke started following her around the flagship whenever he had nothing else to do, but he seemed oddly unable to talk to her. He made small talk, but it felt like there was something he was holding back.

Four months. For a week straight Leia dreamed about Tatooine, where she had never been. It was almost the same every night - she was lost in the sands as the twin suns set; it was cold and growing dark and then a man she didn't know arrived and asked _what were you looking for?_ On the last night she didn't wake up until she'd given the senseless reply: _her_. She woke up crying, Han's blankets pulled over her head.

Four months and three weeks.

_Jabba headed back to Tatooine soon. Following_.

Leia excused herself from the communications center and took deep breaths until the panic attack was over. Then she went to work, researching all the Alliance's connections with smugglers and bounty hunters.

Five months.

_En route to Tatooine_.

Leia quietly joined the back of a training class for new recruits in hand-to-hand combat. In her quarters she lifted bottles and crates and did push-ups until she landed on her face and skinned her chin. It almost helped.

Six months, and a new crisis. Leia had to fight off another panic attack at the sound of the words "a second Death Star". Still. Still. Her blood was up and she had to prove herself, or they'd never let her go on the mission to Tatooine. She couldn't show weakness. For Han.

So she stole an Imperial shuttle. And came back to the fleet, and sat in meetings about strategy for taking down this new Death Star, and waited.

_Fett's here_.

And waited, not breathing, staring at the monitor.

_He collected the bounty. Han's still frozen. Jabba's got him on display_.

The idea chilled her blood. But at least it meant Han was still safe for now. 

Leia went to work.


	31. the way out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, Luke is back on Tatooine. And it's going about as well as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating has been changed. It isn't warranted for this chapter. I just wanted it not to be an obvious spoiler, which it would be if I changed it right when it _is_ warranted.

**Part 31: Luke; Tatooine, 4 ABY**

 

Tatooine.

Luke had never thought he'd be back, not again.

Not that he'd _always_ thought he'd leave and never come back. Back when he'd dreamed of leaving for the academy, he'd imagined coming home on breaks like most of his friends did. Of course he'd known some kids who left Tatooine behind them and never returned, but he hadn't planned to be like that. Tatooine was boring and he hated moisture farming, but his aunt and uncle were his family and the farm was home. 

That was before.

By the time he'd left with Ben, there was no reason to go back except for what he might be able to learn from Ben's house. And after that, no reason at all.

It was ironic that Han, who had been their ticket off the planet for the first time in Luke's life, was his reason for returning now. But the same day Luke had lost his aunt and uncle, he'd also met the first two members of his new family - the shady-looking smuggler and the towering Wookiee who travelled with him. And on the same day he lost Ben, he'd met Leia.

Leia, who'd spent most of the last six months quietly fading, her spirit more dimmed with every day that there was no news of Han; and then the last month almost religiously training herself for - what? To fight Jabba barehanded, possibly. Leia had no idea . . . Leia had never been to Tatooine. She didn't know Hutts. She didn't know . . .

There was a lot Leia didn't know.

He'd tried to tell her - well, sort of. He'd started to try. Lots of times, over those long months they were stationed on _Home One_. He just couldn't find the right -

_My father tortured you._

_The day you had to watch your father and mother die? That was my father making sure you didn't look away. He might as well have pulled the switch himself._

_I've just spent a month learning to use the Force, like my father. Like he did when he hurt you._

It would have been bad enough _before_ what happened on Bespin.

Now . . .

_That month I spent learning to use the Force, like my father? While you were with the man who saved your life? Our best friend? Yeah, the evil monster who took him away was my father. And he did it because of me._

Somehow in six months he just hadn't found the right moment.

Also he never wanted Leia to look at him the way she looked when she was thinking of Vader.

It was hard though - it felt so wrong, lying to her. He'd never felt as close to anyone in his life as he felt to Leia, and now there was something so awful sitting there between them.

Lucky Leia couldn't use the Force, really; or she'd have to know something was up.

Of course it helped that she was so distracted. Luke couldn't imagine how she must be feeling - he was torn up about Han being missing too; Han was the brother he'd never had, the first friend who'd ever been willing to do something like risk his life (again and again) for Luke. But Luke had nothing to regret. If they lost Han . . . well, Luke had never asked Leia how things had been between her and their friend during the month he'd been separated from them. She was so distraught that he didn't want to make her talk about it. He could guess, though. Much as he knew Leia and Han cared about each other, they could barely be in the same room for ten minutes without having an argument. And the more they seemed to care, the more vicious the arguments seemed to get.

He could barely fathom the two of them unable to get away from each other for a whole month. It must have been a bloodbath. And now Han was gone; really gone, after all those times he threatened and all of Leia's railing at him about it, and she must be feeling . . .

He couldn't imagine.

Not that he had to. His Force sense seemed to know Leia now - or maybe he understood now that it always had known her. The warmth and rightness that Leia had always radiated to him was now spiked through with pain, with something that made him sad down to his depths every time he touched on it. She felt so lonely, and when they were together if he hugged her or took her arm he could feel it lessen a little, but it was never gone.

They needed Han back. And that was what had brought Luke back here. To Tatooine. To Ben's house.

Leia entered the humble little hut gingerly, as if it were sacred ground. She didn't say it, but he could feel her reverence for the place where a Jedi had lived.

Luke looked at her and thought _the first time I saw you was right here, with Ben._

_The same day I met you, my father killed Ben._

_I carry the first lightsaber of the man who cut Ben down with one._

Day by day, the part of his mind that cried _it can't be true_ was quieter and quieter. Weaker and weaker.

But he couldn't worry about that now. What mattered now was Han.

Leia, who didn't bite her nails, was biting her thumbnail as she looked around.

"Chewie's been hiding the _Falcon_ in the Heights, north of here," Luke told her. "I radioed, he'll be here soon."

Leia nodded.

"It's about an hour from here to Jabba's by speeder."

She nodded again.

Luke went over and put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't be nervous," he said. "It's - I feel that it's going to be all right."

Leia studied him for a moment, her expression veiled. "I wish I did," she said finally. 

"You're just worried about Han."

"Yes. I am." She shook herself a little, and it took him a moment to realize that she hadn't actually done it with her physical body. He'd just felt it in her spirit. She offered him a strained smile. "I'll see him tomorrow. I'm just afraid - it's not real, or something will go wrong."

Luke hugged her closer. "You did all that research," he reminded her. "You're ready. He'll be fine. You know how to get him over the hibernation sickness, and he'll be all right. Day after tomorrow, we'll all be here together."

She nodded, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

Luke gestured toward the sleeping alcove with the hand that wasn't wrapped around Leia's shoulders. "Figure we'll set him up there so he can recover, but you should take it tonight."

"All right," Leia said, retrieving her small satchel from the floor and dropping it onto the bed. She was looking a bit flushed. Luke made a mental note to check on the water supply and make sure the vaporator was still working - it wouldn't do to have her overheating. She wasn't used to the desert.

Not like a Skywalker.

Chewie would be here soon . . . it was his last chance. "Leia," Luke said, determined not to chicken out this time. "There's something - before Chewie gets here, there's something I should -" 

_The man you're relying on to save you and Han if something goes wrong is the son of your worst enemy._

He gave up, and just pulled her into a tight hug.

When Chewie arrived he had an emotional reunion with Leia (who still looked as if Luke had sort of confused her), and then presented her with the gear of a dead bounty hunter.

"Just what every girl wants," Leia said, but her mouth was set in a grim line. She was ready now.

 

Luke's job was to wait for Leia and Chewie to return with Han and bring them back to Ben's; or to enter the fray himself if Leia didn't make it back.

Leia didn't make it back.

He was worried about her, of course - about all of them - but if he reached out for her in the Force, he could feel her. She wasn't happy - nervous, worried, stressed, and something else he couldn't entirely identify - but he could tell that she wasn't harmed or in pain. The emotion she seemed to be projecting the most was _disgust_ , which (from what Luke knew) seemed a completely reasonable reaction to Jabba's "palace". He wasn't tuned in to Chewie or Han or Lando well enough to find them in the Force, but he had to trust that Leia would be feeling a lot more than disgust if any of them had been hurt.

It all made a lot of sense when he got into Jabba's.

For instance, it was easy to see that Leia would have had a hard time leaving the palace what with her being chained to Jabba like that. The source of the disgust was pretty easy to put his finger on as well, along with the other, less easily identified feelings he'd been getting from her. Not that he could worry about any of that right now - her chains were a complication; her . . . whatever getup she was wearing, was a distraction. She couldn't have been happy about it, but her eyes were calm. She wanted him to stay focused on the plan.

Of course, being dropped into a dungeon cage with a hungry rancor made that difficult.

After that, well, as he'd said to Han, it went pretty much the same as always. In that they all survived, but first the whole thing went to hell and at least two things exploded.

He was focused. He was calm. He was in control. He'd learned hard lessons from his confrontation with Vader.

_. . . and some less hard ones. Would he admit even to himself that there was a little bit of confidence that came from knowing he was the son of someone so powerful?_

Still - especially after the lights went out on Jabba's barge and he could no longer see her - he felt much, much better once Leia was tucked securely against his side and they were joining their friends back on the skiff. 

As soon as Lando steered the skiff in a turn, heading for Ben's place, Han demanded for the second time that day, "Where's Leia?"

"Here," she answered him again, extracting herself from Luke's arm. She stumbled across the turning skiff and crashed into Han, throwing her arms around him.

Han laughed and raised a shaky hand to her hair - well, first to the air in front of him, then he nearly hit her in the nose, then he found her head. "Got a little scary in the middle, but otherwise not a bad rescue, sweetheart," he said.

"You wouldn't want it to be boring," she said. Her voice was breathless and tremulous, and Luke felt happiness from her but also a sort of near-hysteria now that it was all over. He smiled, though, at the way her hand was spread on Han's stomach. Relief, or the fear and worry of the long separation, or both, had made her physically freer with him than Luke had ever seen.

It was sweet. They'd find a way to be at each other's throats before they got halfway to Ben's, but it was sweet for now.

Speaking of which. "We're on our way to Ben Kenobi's place," Luke said, and added the part he knew Han would want to hear. "The _Falcon_ is there."

"Good," Han said. His hand dropped from Leia's head to her shoulder, and both arms pulled her closer. "Good."

"It'll be about two hours at the fastest this thing can . . . go . . ." Luke trailed off as he watched a cloud come over Han's face. The other man's hands were sliding over Leia's bare back in a way that looked rather intimate to Luke, but while he could see Leia punching him for that he didn't understand why it should make _Han_ look -

Ah. Right. Han couldn't see.

Han bent his head close to Leia's and asked urgently, "What happened?"

"I'll tell you everything later," she said. She raised a hand to the side of his face in another very un-Leia-like gesture. "Promise."

Han's big hands were spread across her back and he was turning Leia toward him, tucking her into himself - covering her, Luke realized, as much as he could. The rest of them had been ignoring it, out of politeness and because they had to stay focused on what they were doing; but Han was just finding out what had been done to her, and he'd always been protective of Leia.

Luke was suddenly aware that it was very quiet on the skiff and that all of them, including Han, were waiting to see what Han's reaction was going to be.

"Two hours?" Han said hoarsely.

"Uh," said Luke, who was startled by the change of subject. "Yeah. About."

Han nodded, then said, very, very calmly, "Well, she's going to fry by then in this sun. Maybe we've got a blanket or something?"

"Sorry, Leia, I should have thought," Luke said. He really should have. Politeness was one thing, but she couldn't be enjoying this - even other things aside, being that exposed in the desert was as bad of an idea as Han had suggested. "There are probably supplies on board; no one would go out around this place without them. I'll look."

Leia gave him a nod, her head resting on Han's chest. Luke was still surprised that she wasn't objecting to Han touching her that way, when she was so near-naked, but he supposed Han did make pretty good cover.

Fortunately, there _was_ a stash of emergency supplies in a compartment under the deck flooring. "Is there water?" Leia asked, as Luke rummaged.

He held up a shock blanket, which was the closest thing to coverage that he'd found. "There's this. I'll look for water but it might not be fresh. Are you feeling all right?"

"I am," she replied, "but they never gave Han and Chewie any last night, and he should have been hydrating continuously."

Alarmed, Luke took a harder look at Han. He'd completely forgotten about Leia's extensive research, how they'd prepared for Han to receive hydration and oxygen and bacta treatment as soon as they got him back to Ben's. That should have been last night. Han's color, now that Luke looked, wasn't good, and he was trembling.

Luke dove back into the compartment. "Ration bars?"

"Probably not," Leia said. "He shouldn't eat yet."

The fact that Han was letting her answer for him was not a good sign either. 

"Aha." Luke came up with a canteen that brought back long memories of afternoons on the farm. He unscrewed the top and tasted the water inside. "It's warm but it's all right."

"Small favors," Leia said. On Han's other side, Chewie warbled something that sounded like agreement.

Luke made his way across the skiff to where his friends were waiting. He held out the water, but Han ignored it and reached for the blanket first, shaking it out despite his obvious weakness and then wrapping it tenderly around Leia. She immediately freed an arm and took the canteen.

"Slowly," she said, handing it to Han with the cap off. She was still leaning against his side, even though the shock blanket now covered her mostly from shoulder to calves, and he still had an arm around her. "If you drink too fast you'll throw up."

"I might anyway," Han muttered.

"Are you feeling sick?" Leia asked.

"No worse than the last twenty or so hours," Han replied. He leaned down and kissed her temple, fumbling around for a moment with his lips against her hair. "It's all right, I think it's getting better."

"You were supposed to get actual treatment," she fretted.

"It's been most of a day and I'm still standing," Han said. "That's got to be good."

The skiff lurched and all of them fell against the railing, but Han didn't straighten back up.

"Maybe you shouldn't be standing," Leia said. "Sit down, sit and drink a little more. Chewie -"

Chewie supported Han on his other side, and together he and Leia managed to help Han sit down on the decking with his back against the rail. Leia sat down beside him, modestly tucking the shock blanket around her legs as she settled against Han's shoulder. He still wasn't looking well, but he wrapped his arm around Leia and rubbed his cheek against her hair.

Luke was still waiting for one of them to realize how close they were and sabotage this lovely, caring peace between them. Real expressions of emotion had never lasted this long unless one of them was asleep.

Meanwhile, he lurched his way back across the skiff because using the Force to keep his balance just felt like showing off, and went looking in the supply compartment for more water. They were less than halfway to Ben's, and Han should probably have at least that entire first canteen.

When he glanced back, Han and Leia were still wrapped up in each other, with Chewie sitting on Han's other side a short distance away. Han was saying something to Leia so quietly that Luke couldn't hear what it was, and she was nodding, her eyes closed, her face mostly hidden against Han's shoulder.

They were holding hands, too - the hands that weren't around each other's shoulders tangled together in Han's lap, constantly changing position, twining and caressing; and Luke thought, _oh. Oh._

How had he missed that? Shouldn't Leia's Force presence have given something away? Though, maybe it had. There _had_ been things he couldn't really understand.

He didn't want to wonder because it felt wrong, like prying, but - were they . . . lovers, actually? Had that happened while they were drifting on the _Falcon_?

What he suddenly thought of were those mean rumors a while back that Leia had brought back a _souvenir_ from her trip. Luke had never entertained the remotest possibility of their being true, but - the idea that it might have been possible kind of stunned him. Of course he knew it wasn't _true_ ; he hadn't been around many pregnant women but he knew that by almost seven months something would be showing. But the idea that such a thing could have happened . . . he was almost mad at them. At Han, because he'd have been off doing whatever about Jabba and leaving Leia . . . at Leia, because babies deserved a normal life and a house and parents and . . .

And all right, he was being ridiculous and mostly he was just a little mad at them because looking at them made him feel lonely.

Not over Leia; it wasn't like that. Just because they had each other, in a way that kind of shut him out.

All of this went through his head in barely moments, so that he was prepared and thoroughly unsurprised when he saw them kiss.

Chewie made a happy-sounding noise, so apparently it was only Luke who was selfish. But no - he was happy for them. He would be happy for them. He was just a bit left out.

He did find more water and brought it over to Leia, sitting down on the deck as if there were nothing at all unusual about her being attached to Han's side. Or about the fact that they were still exchanging small, slow kisses.

"I'm probably the most disgusting I've ever been in my life," Han said apologetically as they parted.

"I smell like a Hutt," Leia said, leaning back against him. "I think we're even."

They both looked at Luke - Leia a bit pink, though it could easily have been the sun - and he smiled and held up the canteen. "Round two?"

"I think I'm fine," Han said. He said it to an area off Luke's right shoulder. Luke waved the dark green canteen in front of his own face until he drew Han's unfocused eyes.

And he looked hard at Han again; looked at him like a native Tatooinian. "You're not sweating," he said.

"Is that a problem," Han asked, "because I think I'm vile enough as it is."

"It's hot, if you're not sweating it means you don't have enough water to sweat, and also that you're going to overheat." He forced the canteen into Han's hand. "Drink. Slow."

"I know, I know, if I throw it up you'll just make me drink more." Han's eyes rolled muzzily from Luke's general vicinity to Leia's. He was a lot more successful at finding her, seeing as she was attached to his shoulder. "So bossy, you two."

"Maybe you'd like it back in your carbonite block," Leia murmured.

Han looked delighted at this for some reason. Luke was less delighted - she sounded tired and drained. He reached out and felt her forehead, but she seemed normal enough.

Leia swatted his hand away, reasonably gently. "I'm fine, I'm just tired," she said. "I didn't exactly sleep a lot last night."

Well - that probably should have been obvious. As far as he knew she'd spent the night chained to Jabba's side.

He made a face, and Leia saw it and said, "Yeah."

"Yeah," Luke echoed. He hesitated, then scooted back so that he was sitting next to Leia, up against the railing. "Maybe another hour," he said.

Leia nodded and closed her eyes.

_Poor Leia_. Luke looked at her hand entwined with Han's and mentally reevaluated every day of those six long months. Leia, lonely and worried. When he'd thought she was feeling guilty - she'd been grieving the loss of what she'd found with Han, and for whatever reason not able to tell anyone about it. Even Luke.

He wasn't going to blame her for keeping secrets. Obviously.

Han suddenly sat up a bit, dislodging Leia. He was swallowing hard, visibly, and Luke thought he'd seen something alarming; but Leia was quicker (or just more attuned to Han). She neatly reversed their positions so that her arm was behind Han's back, and she helped him sit up straighter.

"Here, sitting up might help," she said, her hand hovering behind his back. ". . . touch, or don't?"

He nodded without saying anything; now breathing audibly through his nose.

Leia rubbed his back and said, "Do we have a . . . basin, or something?"

Ah. Luke considered. "Uh. We've got a couple of helmets?"

"In a pinch," Leia said, shrugging. "Were you sick last night?" she asked Han.

"Twice," he said, with a panting gasp. "Thought it was . . . done."

"Maybe it's just the water," Leia said. "Ideally we'd have given you IV fluids before putting anything on your stomach."

"Ideally," Han said, still panting out his nausea in the direction of the deck, "wouldn't have been . . . frozen like stored meat."

"Fair point," Leia said sympathetically, rubbing the back of his neck.

Still, Luke thought. Given where they'd been six months ago, all of them sitting around mostly unharmed watching Han try not to puke was a pretty good outcome.

And Leia with Han to take care of was wide awake and in charge - majestic in a draped shock blanket and a slave collar with dangling chain. The palms of her hands, Luke saw, were blistered and raw-looking, but she hadn't seemed to notice.

Han didn't throw up, which was a relief on several levels. He even managed to drink some more water. By the time they reached Ben's his color had improved and he was able to stand up without wobbling.

Chewie jumped down to the sand and then reached up to lift Leia down. Luke took this one quick opportunity to put a hand on Han's shoulder and say under his breath, "Look, Han. Leia - while you were gone, Leia's been . . . not great. You know what I mean?"

Han squinted. He was still missing Luke's face, looking just a bit in the wrong direction. "Yeah," he said. "I know what you mean."

"Okay," Luke said awkwardly. But he felt like his duty was done. Han would . . . though he hadn't always chosen to be in the past, Han knew how to be careful with her.

Han was moving to the edge of the skiff to let Chewie help him down, but he turned abruptly back to Luke and grabbed him into a tight embrace. It was almost smooth - he only gently backhanded Luke's nose.

"Okay," Luke said again, hugging him back.

So, all things considered. Mission accomplished.


	32. back on the path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han was taken and then was rescued; he's coming to terms with both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals a bit with the slave bikini. You'll see it coming if it's something you'd prefer to avoid.

**Part 32: Tatooine, 4 ABY**

 

Despite Chewie's help, Han landed hard when he jumped down from the skiff. Hot sand sprayed up in his face, and his nose hurt when he rubbed it. "Is my nose broken?" he asked. "I don't remember getting hit there."

"Um," Leia said. "When I released you from the carbonite. You kind of . . . fell on your face."

He frowned, which hurt. "Didn't notice last night. Guess I was too busy puking." He gave the bridge of his nose another ginger rub. "I thought you _liked_ my face."

"I didn't expect you to fall out of the thing like a dead fish," Leia said. Her arm went around his waist. "Come on, this way."

She was skinny, under that blanket. He still couldn't really see, but he'd felt it, her ribs, her shoulder blades. _Six months_. He'd thrown up the second time after Chewie told him. 

If he'd known that Jabba'd made her into one of his slave girls, there would have been a third time. At least. Though not knowing had been just as bad - a short, desperate conversation; he'd asked Chewie _where is she, what'd they do with her_ , and Chewie had just said _I don't know but Lando's up there, he came with us, he's in the throne room in disguise, he won't let them hurt her_.

Add this to the list of many, many things he'd be discussing with Lando.

Had the bastard _enjoyed_ this? He'd flirted with her shamelessly in Cloud City. Did he _like_ seeing her on display like this?

Chewie had let him drive the skiff, and hadn't ripped his arms off, so maybe they trusted him.

Still.

"We're in General Kenobi's house now," Leia said softly after he had tripped on the threshold. 

"There are preparations to complete on the _Falcon_ ," Chewie rumbled close behind them. "Lando and I will go and take care of them. The plan is to remain here tonight and leave tomorrow, once you have decided . . ."

"Is that safe?" Han asked. "Is anybody coming after us? And once I've decided what?"

"Whether you want to return to the Alliance fleet with us," Leia said, her arm tightening just a bit around him. "I'd recommend it, the medical people have been researching carbon freeze -"

Too many things at once. Han shook his head to clear it, but with his vision blurred that just made him nauseous again. "'Course I'm coming back to the Alliance," he said, then paused to take a few slow breaths and settle the sandstorm in his head and stomach that rivaled the one kicking up outside. "And I can help with the _Falcon_ -"

"You cannot," Chewie said. "You can't see, and you need to rest and heal."

"I'm not flying in that thing if you throw up in the hyperdrive," Leia said. "Come on in and lie down. Chewie and Lando have been taking good care of her, they can handle it a while longer."

He sort of wanted to protest, but also lying down sounded really good and he wanted to stay with Leia. 

"Can you tell Luke I need his help?" Leia asked someone over his shoulder.

"Yeah." Lando's voice. Then a hand patting him on the shoulder. "I'm glad you're okay, buddy."

Chewie's assurances, in their cell last night, that Lando was on their side would have to be good enough for now. Han was too tired to investigate whether he should kill the guy. He nodded at something that was maybe Lando but probably a coat rack.

The inside of the house was blessedly cool. "What do you need Luke for?" he asked Leia, right before he barked his shin on something.

"Careful," Leia said, steering him to the right. "There's a bed over here."

"What -"

She stopped walking and reached for his hands, lifting them to her own neck. Han felt lightheaded as his fingers skimmed over the metal collar, the bit of dangling chain. "I didn't exactly grab the key," she said.

He swallowed down his horror because she needed the thing _off_ , not for him to have a tantrum. "Is there a clasp?" he asked, feeling along the metal.

"Just a keyhole, and Lando already tried to pick the lock."

Han frowned. It still hurt. "When was that?"

"You fell asleep for a while."

"Leia?"

Han turned toward Luke's voice and was able to make out the kid's dark form framed in the brightness of the open doorway. 

"I think we're down to desperate measures," Leia said. Han could hear the clanking of a chain.

Luke came closer, his boots loud on the floor. "How'd you even get the chain cut in the first place? I never asked."

"R2," Leia said.

More clanking as Luke circled around behind Leia. "Well," he said. "Hold it so there's as much room as possible between the back part and your neck?"

"What -" Han started to ask, and then there was a zip-hiss and the bright column of Luke's lightsaber lit up the room.

"Whoa, whoa!" Han shouted. "Are you insane?"

"There's no other way," Leia said. "I'm not keeping the thing on until we get back to the fleet."

"Don't we have cutters or something?" Han asked.

"We'd be more likely to hurt her with those," Luke said. "Just - Leia, just hold real still."

"Believe me, I am," she said.

With a choking sound of surrender, Han stepped closer to Leia and wrapped one hand over the back of her head.

"All right," Luke said. "Hold it . . ."

"Holding," Leia said, her voice tight. Her free hand was braced against Han's chest.

There was a low buzz, a clank and a thud, and then the brightness of the lightsaber was gone and all was quiet. Except for Leia saying, "ow!"

"Luke!" Han accused, running his hand over her neck.

"It wasn't him, it fell on my foot." More clanking from down on the floor. "Thank you, Luke," Leia added.

"It must have really been rubbing," Luke said. "You should get some bacta on that."

Han felt over the skin of her neck, tracing the welt the collar had left behind until she hissed in pain.

"I will as soon as Han's settled," she said.

"Or now," Han said.

"I'll let you two decide that while R2 and I check on the X-Wing," Luke said, and then his shadow ducked back out into the bright and was gone.

Han found Leia's hands and twined them with his, palm to palm, but after a second she hissed again. Against his palms, he could feel that hers were calloused or blistered. "What happened to your hands?" he asked.

After a second of quiet, she said, "I used the chain to strangle Jabba."

"Seriously?"

There was a blur of movement that might have been a nod. "By the way," she added, "no one's coming after us."

"Jabba's . . ." She'd _killed_ Jabba? With her _hands_? Tiny Leia? "Jabba's _dead_?"

"His yacht blew up, so he'd be dead anyway."

He was still giving her the credit. "Did you see anyone else there you recognized?"

"Fett. He's dead, too."

"You?"

"Sarlacc."

Good enough. "Well," he said, "you told Jabba he'd regret it."

"I did." Her lips lightly brushed his. "You know, this house actually has a water shower?"

" _How_?"

"Honestly, my guess is 'inappropriate use of the Force.'"

In a minute they'd have him believing in this Force stuff. 

He realized suddenly that they were actually alone - for the first time since their bed on Bespin, before Vader, before everything. He pulled her closer by her shoulders, still wrapped in that shock blanket, and tucked her against him. "You're all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said softly. "You need to go and wash so we can -"

"No, you first," he insisted.

She was unbuttoning his shirt before he noticed, but it didn't seem to be romantic. With a little noise of sympathy she touched his belly, and fire flared up in response. Not in the good way.

He'd somehow forgotten about the torture, and the troopers hitting him with their rifles. Apparently injuries didn't heal while you were in hibernation.

While he was still wincing, she said, "We need to get bacta started on this, and you need to be clean first. Who knows what was in that dungeon . . ."

"It can wait," he tried one more time despite the pain. "You must be uncomfortable -"

"You. First," she said firmly. "We brought some of your things from the _Falcon_ so you can change into your own clothes. Can you find the 'fresher by yourself?"

"I couldn't find you if you weren't touching me," he admitted.

"All right." Her arm slipped around his waist again. "This way. Will you want help?"

Leia rarely said things without thinking them through, choosing each word; and the fact that she'd said "want" rather than "need" was so nice that he didn't make the joke she probably half expected. "I should be all right if you get me there," he said.

Leia wasn't brilliant at guiding (there was a fair bit of "don't trip on that" "don't trip on _what_?") but she got him into the little room he gauged to be at the back of the house, and put his hands first on his own kit from the _Falcon_ , then on a towel, then on a pile of clothes. "Don't shave," she advised.

"No, my face is in bad enough shape already," he agreed. "Good thing you like me scruffy."

He felt the soft brush of her lips on his again, and then she ducked away with a murmured, "Call if you need me."

He somehow managed to find the controls and get the water shower turned on. It was even hot, though maybe that wasn't really a luxury - the tank must be in the desert sun all day. The shower itself was a pure mixture of pleasure and pain. He'd felt disgusting since waking up, and the water sluicing through his hair felt great while the smell of his own soap got rid of the lingering reek of Jabba's dungeon. That was the good part. The hot water hitting the burns on his belly and chest was . . . not. Up till now everything, his whole body, had hurt so much that identifying any particular hurt was difficult; but now his injuries raged while the rest faded into an ache.

She'd given him a shirt but he left it unbuttoned when he got dressed, not wanting anything to touch the wounds and figuring she'd put bacta on him straight off anyway. Hand out in front of him, he tried finding his way back to the front of the house without her help. His vision seemed a little better and he was able to make a tentative map in his mind - refresher, kitchen?, . . . another kitchen?, main room. "No bedrooms?" he asked when he identified Leia's shape in front of him.

"No, just the sleeping alcove here." Her hands at his elbows guided him forward. "Come and sit. Or lie down. How do you feel?"

"Better," he said honestly. "How many kitchens this place have?"

"None, sort of," she said. "This place wasn't meant to be a house. I think he just put a sink here and a stove there, wherever there was a free corner. Here's the bed, sit."

He let her prod him down and heard the tearing sound of a package being opened, accompanied by the smell of bacta. 

"Want to lie down?" she asked.

"No, I'm all right." Cool bacta soothed his burns almost immediately, and he felt her fingertips smoothing down the edges of the patches. He blinked a few times, his slowly clearing vision fastening on the chains over her shoulders. "You said you'd tell me what happened," he said, touching a chain with one finger.

Her hands stuttered on his chest, only briefly. "I did say that."

He reached out to brush his knuckles against her cheek; miraculously managing not to poke her in the eye instead. "Tell me."

He heard her swallow. "Not much," she said. "After they took you away - a couple of Twi'leks took me to a room with a . . . it was like half a torture chamber, half a costume shop." She snorted. "Not a very good one of either. They handed me this . . . item, and told me to put it on. I respectfully declined. Then they pulled out the blasters, and I decided it wouldn't do me any good to be proud and dead."

"I agree," Han said, though he was feeling sick again.

"So," she continued, "I . . . tried my hardest not to show them anything I didn't have to, and I put it on. Toward the end one of them decided to 'help.' I would very much like to forget how that felt, but - he's probably dead now. And I'm fine."

"You know you don't have to be," he said softly. "I mean, I'm glad if you are, but -"

"I know," she said. She touched his cheek with fingertips that smelled of bacta. "Anyway. Jabba wanted a trophy, that's all. I sat there, and they leered, and I thought of a thousand ways to kill each of them; and then it was morning and Luke came. The end."

"You sure?"

She kissed him. "Sure."

She could say she was fine all she wanted, but it was time they got her out of that _thing_. "I did as I was told," he said. "Your turn for the shower."

He heard her inhale deeply. "I might need some help," she said.

"Oh. Um -?"

"There's a clasp in the back," she said. "I know you can't see it, but - neither can I. I didn't want to ask Luke."

"Sure. I can do that." He had no idea whether he could do that, actually, but he'd try. He'd snap the thing with his teeth if he had to. "Uh, here - come sit here." He shifted back on the bed with his knees parted, leaving enough room for her to sit between them.

She unwrapped the blanket as she settled in front of him, only, as far as he could tell, holding it up in front. In case any of the others came back, he figured. He felt along her bare back, feeling her shiver, until his fingers contacted the paltry strip of metal holding the top on. "See the clasp?" she asked. "Or - feel it?"

He slid his fingertips back and forth until he felt something irregular. "Yeah. Give me a second."

She nodded.

He spent a while trying to force the clasp open the wrong way before figuring out his mistake. It wasn't complicated once he started flicking the closure in the right direction, but it was sticky with rust.

"There," he said as it parted. He gave a little rub to her back where even his blurry vision could make out a reddish mark. "Do you think this top part would just go over your head now?"

"Try it?"

". . . sure." He slid his hands along the metal, trying to lift from the side pieces rather than getting too close to the cups. Her small " _ow_ " reminded him that breasts were only so squashable, though, and he did have to remember to lift _out_ from her body before pulling the whole thing _up_. It did come off over her head, in the end. "I want to throw it," he told her, "but I can't see what it would hit."

"Just dropping it will be good enough," she said. "Not on my foot."

He was happy to oblige. Then he paused, his eyes struggling to focus on the shape of her back, the tower of her hair. "Want me to take your hair down?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, _please_."

"Who did it?" he asked, feeling for the first pins. "Jabba's got hairdressers in his little torture chamber? Or did you just get really bored?"

"There was a woman . . ." Leia said. "I hope they all know by now that he's not coming back. I hope they've left. Before some other crimelord moves in."

"I'm sure they'll leave," he said. He'd found a rhythm now, his fingers seeking out all the hidden little pins. They were a bit rusty, too. She'd be grateful for that water shower soon enough.

He accidentally brushed her shoulder with his hand and then, enjoying the feel of her skin, did it again. When she didn't seem to mind, he settled his hands on both shoulders and rubbed gently.

 _I would very much like to forget how that felt_ , she'd said. Well.

He moved his hands down under her arms to her sides, rubbing up and down. "Okay?" he asked.

She nodded.

Slowly he made his way around to her stomach and rubbed upward in small circles. He bent over her, kissing the back of her neck, as his thumbs massaged into the creases under her breasts. She didn't move, but he could hear her slow, deep breathing. Cautiously, briefly, he cupped her breasts in both hands, thumbs moving over the softness of her nipples. There was nothing of arousal in it; it just - was what it was. A moment. He moved on, massaging up to her collarbones while pressing more kisses to her neck. When he'd reached her shoulders again, he wrapped his arms around her, over the blanket she was still holding in front of herself, and pressed against her back.

 _Six months_.

He'd never touched her so intimately, never been around her when she was this naked, but he was suddenly reminded that they'd talked about it - about taking their relationship further, after . . . _after_. Well, it was after. Except that conversation had been barely more than a week ago for him, and she'd lived half a year in that time. Without him. She'd had another birthday; he felt like they'd just done the last one, on Hoth, but she was already twenty-four now. Anything could have changed in that time. Who knew if she still wanted . . . not that he was in any condition right now, but he was sure hoping the sickness and the blindness and the walking like a newborn nerf would be short-lived.

Leia touched his hands, and his thoughts quieted. "What about the bottom?" he asked as he resumed his work with the hairpins. "Can you do that yourself?"

"Yeah," she said, after clearing her throat a bit. "I can see where that one hooks."

"Good." Pulling out a few last pins sent her hair falling in braids down her back. He began unbraiding it, running his fingers through the loosening strands; something else he'd never done. She always went to bed with it braided and he'd never offered to do it for her. Maybe now he would.

"Leia," he said, when he'd almost completely draped her back with her hair.

"Hmm?"

"Six months . . ."

She twisted over one shoulder. "I'm so sorry. We couldn't find Fett, I don't know why he didn't go straight to Jabba -"

"That's not what I mean," he reassured her, a hand on her shoulder. "Just - I know we have a different . . . I mean, last night I was in Jabba's dungeon, and the night before that we were in a cell on Bespin, and everything - everything with us, you know, it was . . . just before that. But for you there's been all this time."

"I know," she said softly. "It must be strange."

"I want to - try to understand," he said. "That things might be different . . ."

"They're not," she said. She twisted further and kissed him. "Unless you want them to be."

"I don't want them to be," he said quickly.

"All right," she whispered.

He stroked his fingers through her hair, brushing it back behind her shoulders. "You know I'm staying, I'm . . . I mean Jabba's obviously taken care of - I'm with you, I'm here."

"Good." Her smile was tiny, but real. And close enough to his face that he could see it. "I'm going to go and not smell like this anymore now."

"Good."

He lay back on the bed as she left, and was asleep before she had the water running.

There were patches of awareness, the rest of the night . . . Leia coming back, hair wet and wearing one of his shirts . . . Leia talking him into accepting an IV line, by promising that this way he could sleep while he hydrated . . . blinking awake to see the others sharing dinner around Ben's small table, and Leia bringing him a cup of broth . . . waking again to a darkened room and Leia slipping into the bed beside him. "'s everyone else?" he slurred as she settled against him.

"Lando's sleeping out on the _Falcon_ ," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "Luke and Chewie are here with us."

"Safety in numbers!" came Luke's cheerful voice.

Han almost snorted.

"They've got bedrolls," Leia said, her body shaking with silent laughter and her forehead on Han's chest. Was it really this normal, them seeing her sharing his bed? Maybe the fact that he was half unconscious made the difference.

"Go back to sleep," Chewie rumbled quietly from somewhere else in the room. "We are here to keep you and the little one safe while you rest."

"Okay," Han said, and was asleep again.

When he woke the next time, it was because he felt better; which was weird but it was the only way he could think to put it. Aside from something chirping outside the dark house was quiet. He held up a hand in front of his face, and squinted at it in the dim light cast by a glow strip near the door. His vision seemed a little better.

Leia shifted in her sleep and he pulled her closer. She smelled so good now, like herself. Comfortable. 

His other hand felt funny. After a few experimental wriggles, he figured out that it was because Leia was holding onto his two smallest fingers. He'd noticed her doing that before, he realized, without ever really thinking about it - the way she'd twist her fingers into his shirt, or grip the edge of the pillowcase. She liked to hold things. It was cute; he wondered if it had been a baby habit. Tiny Leia's version of thumbsucking.

She took a heavy, shaky breath. In the same moment he realized that she was awake, and that she was crying. He curled around her and rubbed her back so she would know he was awake, too. "Shh," he whispered. "What is it?"

She shook her head against his chest, and he kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair back. "Tell me," he said.

"You're here," she finally said, with a quiet sniffle.

Oh. "Yeah," he said. "I'm here."

There was movement in the darkness, over Leia's shoulder - Luke, sitting up on his cot. Han wasn't even sure whether he was seeing or imagining the inquisitive look on Luke's face.

Still rubbing Leia's back, he shook his head silently and watched Luke nod and lie back down. Han might not be able to see completely yet, and he might need help with a lot of things, but at least he was confident that he could comfort Leia on his own.

After all, if she was - if they were going to do this, she was his to take care of. Even more than before.

"I love you," he said as softly as he could, and realized it was the first time he'd said it to her since the carbonite. So he said it again, his lips against her hair.

She nodded, and tightened her grip on his hand.


	33. the road home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia and Han make it back to the thick of things; Luke processes learning the things he's always known.

**Part 33: hyperspace, Sullust, and Dagobah, 4 ABY**

_Leia_

 

If she could just forget about the second Death Star, it was almost perfect.

With Luke off to check in with his Jedi Master and Lando piloting the borrowed Y-Wing with 3PO as eager copilot (Lando, apparently, knew how to do things with the appropriate protocol), it was just her and Han and Chewie on the _Falcon_. Almost like their trip to Bespin, but with a working hyperdrive and without - well, not completely without dread (she couldn't actually forget about that Death Star, after all), but without such a personal kind of dread anyway. 

Han wasn't leaving. Jabba was gone. With no one to pay them, the bounty hunters would be off his back. The Empire probably thought he was dead. And they were headed, not to a dubious reception on an only-choice, last-chance world, but back to the Alliance fleet. Where they'd be greeted by actual doctors and a full-scale medical bay ready to ensure Han was as healthy as he seemed.

And he was better every day they were on the _Falcon_. Even by the time they left Tatooine he could see well enough to fly, with Chewie co-piloting a bit more actively than usual. Leia wasn't sure she'd trust him to land, or to dock with one of the Alliance frigates, but the fleet was days away and she expected his vision to be fully recovered by then.

He managed to eat a little bit the day they left, too, and although he got greenish for a while it stayed down. By that evening he was requesting a taste of the Corellian whiskey he kept for special occasions. She refused other than sipping it herself and then kissing him, with an arch smile, to let him taste it on her lips; but by the next day he'd actually eaten somewhat normal meals and she handed over the bottle (he got a headache after just one glass, but that seemed to be the worst of it). His temperature regulation was better by then, too - no more sudden shifts from sweating to freezing - and the oxygen monitors, when she could convince him to submit for testing, were giving normal readings.

She almost cried again the first night aboard when they shared his bunk, back for the first time in almost seven months to where they'd shared so many tender moments. Sleeping here without him, as they flew away from Bespin, had been better than being somewhere else - at least here she was surrounded by reminders of him - but it had still felt so wrong. Now, even with the persistent smell of bacta clinging to both of them and the ache and strain in every part of her body, everything was right again.

On the second day in hyperspace he felt well enough to go tinkering - not that anything was broken, for once, but he didn't trust Lando not to have made unauthorized modifications and he wouldn't rest until he'd gone over the whole ship. By feel, if necessary. After finishing her (highly sanitized) writeup of the rescue mission for Alliance command, she found him down in one of the engine bays, clinging to a ladder and running his fingers over a panel of circuitry.

"Careful," she said, sitting down on the deck with her legs dangling into the open hatch. "When I touched those you told me I'd electrocute myself."

"I can see," he replied, still touching bits of wire in a seemingly random order.

"Anything wrong?"

"No."

"Then . . . what are you doing?"

He looked up at her and grinned, as if a spell had been broken and he was suddenly truly aware of her presence. "Getting reacquainted."

"You didn't even know you were apart," she pointed out.

He hauled himself a few rungs up the ladder, until his body stuck out of the hatch and his face was even with hers. "But she knew," he said, and kissed her on the forehead.

She reached out and framed his face with her hands, then pulled him in for a real kiss. He'd barely had time to miss her - one night in Jabba's dungeon was all he was aware of; not nearly enough for him to get half as desperate for her as she was for him. He seemed delighted, though, with the change that had taken place in their relationship without him. There was simply nothing holding her back anymore. She loved him; she'd almost lost him; now he was here and she felt completely free with him. 

And even without the months of loneliness, he kissed her back as if he were drowning. Sighing her name against her mouth; his hands stroking through her hair (she'd left it a bit messy, since there was no one else to see and he liked it that way). For him, she supposed, it must just be the natural progression. Picking up where they'd left off - where he hadn't even known they'd left off. Though he made no move to take anything further, even when he leaned into her, still a bit unsteady on the ladder, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer . . .

That was not actually a surprise. _He_ hadn't been waiting months, and she didn't really expect even the dramatic events of his rescue to be enough to change his slow and patient approach. She also wasn't sure his body would be ready for a while anyway.

But she did think sometimes about how his hands had felt. He'd been gentle; it had felt safe. Easy.

When she was alone, while he was working, she sort of tested the idea that things were different because of what had happened at Jabba's - that she was comfortable letting him touch her like this because someone else already had, or had tried to. It didn't feel true, though. She did feel that Jabba and his thugs had taken something from her and Han, by forcing her to be so naked in public, by trying to touch her - things she'd never shared with anyone and had intended to share only with Han. She hated that; she couldn't begin to know how Han felt about it; and she hadn't found the words to bring it up with him. But all that hadn't changed how she felt about being with Han - _that_ wasn't the reason for the change.

She'd missed him, and now she could have him. That deep and that simple.

One thing that - well, it didn't exactly bother her; it was just a thing that she wondered. Like she wondered whether Han would get annoyed eventually, with her grafted on to his side all the time. It was just . . .

For so long she'd had no anchor, no - gravity. She'd always had a purpose, in her job - her legitimate job, which she'd still had some small hope might make a difference - and in the rebellion. But her parents - her father and his mission, her mother's steady love and leadership - and Alderaan, her people, had been her point of gravity. Her home, the center that held her world together. And then it was all gone. And the rebellion became her anchor, because she had nothing else. 

Now . . . now she felt, sensed, a grounding, a safe refuge, a new gravitational pull that changed her orbit ever so slightly. Han was becoming her anchor. Not her purpose - she still had one of those, of her own - and not her whole being, but her center of gravity. Her home base.

Should she worry about that? Or was it all right, if that happened, if that were true?

She wondered, a little, as she held onto him while they slept.

But then they were back to the fleet, and even though he'd been beside her this whole time, her entire being seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. _Now_ , now it was really over.

She made a discreet comm call as they approached for docking - Han wouldn't appreciate being greeted by a flurry of doctors and a hoverstretcher, as if he were at death's door. Instead they were met by Rieekan and Dodonna and one medical technician with accompanying droid, holding a datapad rather than a stretcher and oxygen tanks.

This did not stop Han from throwing a look at Leia as they disembarked, and asking, "You not feeling well?"

She limited herself to about half of an eye roll and said, "Please just go with them and get it over with. For me. They've been doing all this research, and I'd really feel better -"

"I'll go, sweetheart," he interrupted, a hand on her elbow. "Though I feel fine."

A moment too late, Cloud City on her mind, she wondered if sending him off alone with a stranger and a strange droid felt at all . . . ominous. He'd seemed fine on the trip; at least, if he'd had flashbacks or nightmares or anything like that she hadn't noticed or been awakened by them. But . . . "Want me to come with you?" she asked.

He gave her a bit of a funny look, and said, "No need, I promise I'll go."

Rieekan beamed as they descended the ramp, and Dodonna clapped Han so hard on the shoulder that Han staggered (and tried to hide it). "You look pretty good for a statue," Dodonna said.

Before Han could respond, the medical droid said, "General, it is recommended to treat the patient gently, as he may be damaged."

Dodonna looked alarmed - both generals did - but Han quickly said, "I'm fine. It was a little rough at first but I'm feeling much better. I did promise the princess I'd get myself cleared by medical -" He nodded to the doctor and the droid "- but I'm sure there won't be any problem."

"We've all been - extremely concerned, for your safety," Rieekan said, clasping Han's arm. Past Han's shoulder, the general smiled at Leia and she smiled back.

"Where's Mon Mothma?" she asked.

"Stuck in negotiations with the Bothans," Rieekan said. "If you'd like to -"

"Of course," Leia replied, casting a look at Han; who smiled and said, "go on, I'll find you after they've cleared me." She tried not to be too obvious about watching him walk off with the medical team, as she followed Rieekan to command.

Two hours of chaos later she was in her quarters, trying to organize a bit after her absence and find a place for the extra datapads full of briefing notes she'd been given, when there was a knock at the door.

Even though he'd said he would find her, she was still surprised to see Han's face when she palmed the door control. "Come in," she said, after a moment's awkward hesitation.

"I asked where your quarters were," he said, hitting the control to shut the door again behind him.

"Oh. Yes. They've moved me since before Hoth." She motioned. "I've got a viewport now."

"You must be important," he teased gently, glancing at the starfield visible outside the ship. 

"It's closer to command."

"How is command?"

"The plans are just about made," she said quietly. "We'll launch a two-pronged assault on the Death Star within a few days."

"And the . . . Bothans?"

"Spies."

"Oh." He nodded, looking around her quarters as if he found them especially fascinating. "So I wondered - I was wondering . . ."

"Hmm?"

He shrugged a little. "If you wanted me to stay here. With you. _Here_ , I mean," he added, with a wave toward the bed in case she might be confused.

"Yes," she said, without giving herself time to consider that there might be reasons why he'd ask first, and that she might in fact care about those reasons. 

"People might talk," he said.

And yes, that was probably the primary reason. But weren't they going to talk no matter what? She wasn't going to just go back to before, pretend everything was the same and they were conducting themselves with total cold propriety.

"They'd talk if I slept on the _Falcon_ , too," she said; and then realized that was something that might matter. Not the talking part, but - "Would you rather we slept on the _Falcon_?

He grinned. It took her a moment to realize it was because of the way she'd said "we".

"Nah," he said. "This looks comfortable - bed's bigger, not that you take up much space -"

"I could start," she said. "You have no idea how I sleep when there's room."

"You'll want to be where people expect you to be," he added, still smiling.

As she came closer and slipped her arms around his waist, she suddenly remembered why he hadn't just come with her in the first place after they landed. "What did medical say?" she asked.

"That I'm fine."

She raised an eyebrow. "A little more detail than that, please."

His hands covered her shoulders, thumbs rubbing at her upper arms. "Let's see. I got two new vaccinations just in case -"

She wrinkled her nose in sympathy.

"My blood oxygen level is fine, reflexes and muscle . . . something not a hundred percent yet but they see no reason why it won't get better over the next couple days, and apparently I had two fractured ribs but they're healing already." He bent and kissed the bridge of her nose. "You did a good job on me. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Good," she said softly. She leaned in for a second to press her forehead against his chest. "I have to go back and talk to Mon Mothma; she was busy earlier. Want to lie down here and rest while I'm gone?"

"Honestly?" His eyes flickered toward the bed. "Yeah. That sounds good."

She nodded and stretched up to kiss him. "By then it should be dinner."

"Great. I'm officially cleared to eat whatever I want. Or, you know, whatever they have at dinner." 

"Which is rarely what anyone wants."

"But it beats a nutrient tube in my arm." He bent to kiss her. "Go on, go find Mothma. I'll be asleep in seconds."

"All right," she said softly, watching him sit down on the edge of her bed.

 

_Luke_

 

He sat and stared out into the darkness, not sure whether he was hoping for another ghost to flicker into existence.

_The desert gives, and the desert takes._

That was a Tatooine expression.

Yoda and Ben had confirmed the awful truth Luke had really already known - Darth Vader was his father. Anakin Skywalker wasn't a hero, an innocent Jedi murdered while doing his duty . . . he was the murderer. Torturer. That word Leia had used - _Sith_.

But then there was Leia.

He had a sister. That funny feeling that he'd always been incomplete - which he'd just assumed everyone else felt, too - that was suddenly gone. He _had_ been incomplete. He was a twin, half of something he hadn't even known about.

He'd lost his father, the father he'd always held in his mind and heart. He'd gained a sister.

_The desert gives, and the desert takes._

He wondered if she had felt incomplete, too. Or, well - if she had, she still did. Somehow it was hard to remember that she didn't know, yet.

At the back of his mind he'd realized that he no longer had to worry so much about her hating him when she found out Vader was his father . . . of course, he had no idea how she would react to getting the same news that had prompted Luke to jump almost to his death. Maybe she'd reject Luke anyway, wanting to distance herself from any reminder of her link to Vader.

He reached out tentatively, as Yoda had taught him. He knew her well enough now that he could probably find her just about anywhere in the galaxy. Not trying to communicate or send any message, he just sought to sense her, to -

There. She was . . . happy. Not without fear, but that would just be the Death Star, the upcoming battle.

She was warm and comfortable. She was with Han, Luke realized. He couldn't quite sense the other man as he could sense his sister - his _sister . . ._ \- but his presence was there in Leia's feelings.

Actually, he thought she might be asleep. That would explain the sort of fuzzy vagueness to her emotions.

Luke cautiously borrowed a little bit of her contentment, soothing himself that way. A flash in his mind -

_He'd done this before - a comforting safe darkwarm, noisy, a sense of fear coming from somewhere outside himself; his fingers and his still-unformed mind both grasping onto the presence beside him._

"The Force surrounds a living thing," Yoda had said.

"As soon as we're born?" Luke had asked.

Yoda had scoffed. "Alive, a being is, before it is born. Grew up on a farm did you, and not know that?"

"It was a _moisture farm_."

"A baby moves, in the womb, in the egg. Alive. And the Force is alive with it. When the being is sensitive to the Force, settles around it then, the Force does. In the womb. In the egg. Senses, already, the baby can. Knows the Force. Knows others through the Force."

 _Knows others through the Force._ Luke guessed it wasn't mere genetics, the connection he'd always felt with Leia, how easy it was to sense her in the Force. How he'd been able to call to her on Cloud City and make her hear. They'd known each other in the Force from the moment they were first alive. The Force had settled around them together.

He wondered if they'd cried, when they were separated. If they'd known what they were losing. With all Yoda's training Luke could find his sister now, but as tiny babies he guessed they wouldn't have been able to do it, once they were far away from each other. They would have lost their bond, and eventually forgotten. Except for the occasional dream.

One more thought flitted across Luke's mind: Ben had known. Ben had taken Luke - well, meant to take him to Alderaan - but had taken him to Leia, knowing that he was about to reunite the twins for the first time.

 _Why didn't you tell me?_ Luke asked Ben for the umpteenth time. 

Maybe because it would have exposed Leia? Her adoption was common knowledge, but . . . how many beings, Luke wondered, knew that Anakin Skywalker was Darth Vader?

His uncle and aunt had raised Luke as a Skywalker - risky enough - but the Organas had raised Anakin's daughter in public right under Anakin's own nose. And Vader had figured out quickly enough that Luke was his son. And he'd had Leia in his custody, interrogated her . . . if word had ever gotten to him that Leia was really a Skywalker too . . . 

Still. _It would have been pretty awkward if we'd decided to date_ , Luke pointed out to Ben in his head. Had everyone just been relying on the Force to identify them for each other as siblings and not as anything else? It had worked, but still. _Your ghost would probably have shown up and told us then. I hope._

So. A sister. And a Death Star. And Vader. Quite a lot he had to get back to.

Luke took a few deep, cleansing breaths and began to try to meditate, but instead just reached out with the Force and found Leia again.


	34. choosing the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han decides to become official; and faces more potential lingering effects of carbon freeze. With help.

**Part 34: above Sullust**

 

Han chose Rieekan because he figured the Alderaanian general wouldn't ask questions, and he was more or less right.

He found his way to Rieekan's office on the other side of the command center after lunch - possibly the longest walk he'd taken yet. His back was still stiff and he could feel the fractured ribs, but otherwise he was doing all right beyond some dizziness. That, and the fact that he still wanted to sleep half the day. You'd think he'd have hibernated enough.

"Captain Solo!" Rieekan said happily. "I hope this means you've been fully cleared to fly. We need all the pilots we can get, if you're willing."

A year ago Han would have been annoyed by anyone from the Alliance assuming that he'd be willing to participate in their next action. Now it seemed insane, after everything Leia and the others had gone through to rescue him, to even consider not participating. Which was kind of the point of this discussion.

He drew himself up. "General," he said, "I'm here to enlist."

Rieekan blinked back at him, but to his credit recovered quickly and, as Han had hoped, didn't start asking _why_. "To enlist," he repeated. "With the Alliance? You mean as an officer?"

Han shrugged. "As whatever you want to make me, I guess."

Rieekan folded his arms over his chest. "With your flight experience and your Academy background, if you'd enlisted the day we met, the Alliance would have made you a major at least, I expect. We should take into account your service since then - your work with General Dodonna and the Pathfinders -"

"I haven't exactly demonstrated a lot of commitment," Han admitted. Might as well get it all on the table.

"On the contrary," Rieekan said. "You've stayed with us longer than almost any other noncommissioned contractor. You may not have taken any oaths, but you've been here."

"Well," Han said. "I'm taking them now."

Rieekan gave him a slow nod and said, "Good. I'm glad. And I think we need to speak with General Dodonna. Has anyone mentioned the strike on the Endor moon to you?"

"No."

"It's probably time we did."

 

Han returned to Leia's quarters after his meeting with most of the command - Rieekan, Dodonna, this new Madine guy, and Mon Mothma herself - still undecided on how much to tell Leia. He obviously wanted her to know he'd accepted a commission; after all, he'd done it for her. Mostly. But the Endor mission was another story - he had a feeling he should decide whether he wanted her joining it, before he decided whether to tell her about it.

Because it was Leia.

And of course he'd need to tell Chewie that he'd finally taken the plunge. Chewie would be almost as excited as Leia would be.

Leia wasn't in her quarters, but the table was strewn with the datapads she'd been studying this morning. For lack of anything else to do he pulled them into stacks, trying to group them by size so at least they wouldn't go sliding all over the place.

On the bottom was the datapad still loaded with a chip bearing the stamp of the Alliance medical corps. The information she'd borrowed on hibernation and carbon freeze, while they looked for him. He sat down on the bed and opened the files with some curiosity - he'd never really asked what kind of consequences she had been prepared to handle.

Idly he flipped through, both amused and horrified at some of the more dire possibilities proposed - if the subject was frozen for too long, extremities might fall off upon unfreezing. Circulation might be impaired, and the extremities would blacken hours later, and fall off. Carbonite itself might find its way into any small cut and infect the bloodstream . . .

And, he assumed, something would fall off. He skimmed ahead. Immediate cardiac arrest . . . probably a risk that was behind him now. Hyperemesis . . . he didn't exactly know what that was, but the things in the medical bay were labeled "emesis basin," so he could guess. Check that one off. At least it hadn't lasted long.

Risk of pneumonia from aspirating fluids . . . he figured that also _probably_ would have happened by now, but he'd still get a little nervous next time he coughed. On to the potential long term effects that might not have turned up within the first week. Clotting problems. Whatever "syncope" was. Leia seemed like the kind of person who would have a dictionary somewhere. Risk of developing asthma. Migraine. Nerve damage -

He stopped on one sentence and read it over two, three times. Asthma he thought he could deal with. He was a little afraid to go look up "syncope" but it couldn't be that bad if he'd never heard of it. But this . . .

The door slid open and Leia stepped in. "Hello," she said, her smile pleased to find him there. She looked so . . . happy. Happy, and lovely. 

He had to say something so he blurted out, "What's syncope?"

"What?"

She looked confused, so he spelled it.

"Oh." Her expression cleared. "Fainting."

"Did I say it wrong?"

"Yes." She came closer and took the datapad from his hand, and he stood to greet her with a quick, distracted kiss.

"Why don't they just say 'fainting' then?" he grumbled.

"For fun, I imagine." She tossed the datapad onto the bed and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Were you reading those articles about carbon freeze?"

He nodded, swallowing.

As she did so often, Leia eerily honed in on his mental state. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Han glanced over at the discarded datapad. "Did you read all those? All of it?"

"Yes," she said. "I had plenty of time, unfortunately."

"No - I know, I mean . . ." He put his hands over hers, removed them gently from his waist and held them. "Doesn't it worry you?"

"It terrified me," she said, her eyes wide and honest. "All those articles made it sound hopeless. But you're here, and you're fine now."

"Yeah - I mean I know nothing fell off -"

She snorted. "I think that one was just entertaining himself."

"But this . . . this long term stuff, Leia -"

"I know some of it sounds bad," she said, her thumbs rubbing his wrists. "But it seems unlikely you would do so well - have none of the most extreme short term side effects - and then have serious complications later. And they're guessing about most of that anyway."

"Because most people have died of the short term effects."

"Well - yes. And see, here you are."

"This stuff about - 'functional deficits,' though." He swallowed again, mind racing on whether he could actually talk to her about this - but on the other hand, if he wanted things to be different with her, if he wanted them to be _real_ with her, he would need to talk to her like . . . what was she? 

A partner. A partner who was no stranger to humiliation in this story herself.

"There's things they don't exactly test in medical bay," he continued.

"Han, I don't think you're going to have syncope."

"No, I -" She'd pronounced the e at the end. He was momentarily distracted. "Really?"

She nodded.

That was definitely not normal Basic. He shook that off. "There's stuff that hasn't come up yet." Worst choice of words ever. Mortified, he stammered, "Or - well - that's kind of the point."

She frowned again, looking into his face searchingly. He just let her.

"Oh," she said eventually.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"We said -" He put his hands on her shoulders, almost as if he were steadying her instead of mostly the other way around. "When we were on the _Falcon_ , you know, we talked about - after I came back from taking care of Jabba, if I came back -"

"I remember," she said, sparing him from finding the rest of the words.

"Well, so, what if - I mean it matters, it's not just the obvious - _yeah_ , obviously it matters to me but I also want, for us I mean, for us to have a normal . . ." The part of his brain that couldn't believe he was saying any of this at all was interfering, not enough to stop him, but just enough to make him incoherent.

"I know. I know. Han." She lifted her hands to the sides of his face. "I don't think that's any more likely to be a problem than - all the other problems you haven't had."

"But -" Until reading that medical article, it hadn't occurred to him to notice that he'd been sharing a bed with her, kissing her, watching her be so much freer around him, without anything . . . coming up. Was there any way in the galaxy he could actually say that to her, though? "Nothing's, it hasn't . . ."

"You've been feeling sick," she said. "And you're still a little tired. I wouldn't expect . . ." Her nose wrinkled. "I'm . . . I don't want to ask how often it usually . . . happens. . . ?"

"More often than never." He could feel the heat in his face; not a thing that happened to him often. Of course, neither was this.

She stretched up and kissed him, softly. "All right. But when you're sick?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sick that much?"

"So you don't know." This time she pulled him down, hands behind his head, so that she could kiss him. "Try to calm down."

"I am calm."

"No, you're not."

She wasn't wrong. He was still, but he was jittery on the inside.

"You're worried?" she asked, her hands still on the back of his neck.

He looked at her incredulously - yes, he was worried, this wasn't exactly like having a headache . . .

"Okay," she said, and pulled him in for another kiss. She poured everything into this one, holding him as close as she could, coaxing him, opening to him; and he melted into it - but. He was not ready for this. Worried as he might be, this was not going to be the answer right now.

"Leia," he said against her mouth.

She pulled back and smiled at him, but he could see her calculating on something. Leia, who was so practiced at schooling her face to conceal her emotions, could never hide when she was _thinking_. "Lie down?" she said.

Okay. Okay. He kissed her forehead to cover his nerves and said, "I'm not really - you know I'm not really up to anything yet."

"You're not doing anything," she said. "Just lie down."

He was worried, but he did as she said.

She climbed onto the bed next to him, stretching out, her arm over him; and went back to kissing him. They'd done this of course, since Jabba's (although not usually lying down), but this felt less spontaneous. He could feel her heart beating very fast - so she wasn't as calm as she was pretending to be, either.

Her hand was rubbing his chest, which felt good; and he had a moment to notice how much he had been enjoying that part of it. He hadn't realized before. While he'd felt too beat up and worn out to be thinking about being aroused, the other kinds of touch had been so nice. 

Then her hand was lower, on his belly, and that felt good too, but he was starting to pay closer attention to what she was doing. She kissed him one more time and then sat up, and scooted herself further down the bed. 

"Leia," he said again, his tone showing his uncertainty.

She picked up his hand and kissed the back, then asked, "Trust me?"

He still felt pretty unsure, but he did trust her, so he nodded. He saw her take a moment to gather herself after she'd set his hand down on his belly; then she reached out with a determined look and unfastened his belt.

He wanted to ask if she was completely sure about this, but didn't want to sound as if he wasn't trusting her, so he pressed his lips together and waited while she ran her hands more or less soothingly up and down his thighs. And then she opened his pants and all he could think was that this was not usually how a guy wanted this to go. With her seeing him for the first time looking downright unimpressive. He found himself revisiting the idea that maybe Leia had never seen another man naked before anyway, and kind of hoping it was true. He could not possibly win a comparison right now.

Her touch was tentative, a hesitant stroking finger while her other hand stayed anchored warm on his thigh. At least he could now be pretty sure she'd never seen a holo porn, or she'd be grabbing on like she was trying to steer a Star Destroyer. So at least he didn't have to compete with _that_. 

When he dared to look at her instead of the ceiling, she was biting her lip. He was able to reach her knee, just barely, and he brushed his fingertips against it. She looked down and followed his movement, before growing a bit bolder with her own. "All right?" she asked almost in a whisper, as her fingers wrapped around him.

Still keeping his mouth tightly closed, he nodded.

At least, thank all the powers in the galaxy, he was feeling _something_. Not that he'd expected to be numb - he definitely would have noticed that before now - but he didn't exactly have a lot of experience with what "dysfunction" felt like. Hopefully not like this. He closed his eyes and tried to stop thinking, to just give in to what she was doing. 

"Did you . . . try, yourself, at all?" she asked, without breaking her slow, cautious rhythm. "I mean -"

"No," he choked out. "No - you came in, as soon as I read it."

"All right," she said, still stroking, still experimenting, it seemed, with different touches. 

The sensation was building in a slow but familiar enough way, enough that he felt himself pushing up into her hand. Time seemed to pass. He listened to her breathing, the rustling of their bodies shifting on the sheets.

"Han?" she asked, her hand slowing but not releasing him, her other hand resting on the waistband of his open pants, her fingertips touching bare skin under his shirt.

"Hmm?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"This may be an awkward question, but - does this seem normal?"

At first he thought she meant the whole situation, or some aspect of it - a princess with her hand in a smuggler's pants because he was worried about being made impotent by hibernation sickness. Then she did something with her fingers that felt like a means of getting his attention, and he opened his eyes and looked down.

And there was definitely nothing that felt especially normal about assessing the quality of his erection, with or without the woman's hand wrapped around it; but with relief he noted that it looked . . . pretty much like usual? He hesitated - but it wasn't like he could avoid embarrassment at this point; might as well go all in - and reached down to feel with his own hand.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he said drily. "That's about as good as it gets."

Leia looked up at him with an eyebrow crooked. "Just so you know that wasn't any kind of a value judgement."

"I know."

Her hand moved a little, brushing against his, and he gave a quiet groan. "I just meant," she said, "you know, I don't know how it usually -"

"I got it," he said. "You do now."

A small hesitation on her part, and then she requested, "Show me?"

"You're - doing just fine on your own," he managed.

"But I want it to be better than 'fine.'"

Slowly he covered her hand with his own and guided her into a more familiar rhythm. He hadn't been flattering her - she'd successfully made him hard, so she was doing something right. But this would - this would - get him somewhere - faster . . .

She was always a quick study. He let his hand drop to the bed as she took over with more confidence. A warm weight settled on him - he looked down and saw that she was resting on his belly, head turned away from him, focused on what she was doing to him. He fought the urge to reach out and touch her hair, afraid he might get carried away and pull.

With a bit of horror he realized he was close, and he didn't know if she had any idea what she was expecting - and he was close, really close . . . He fumbled for the dampish towel from the morning still hanging from the corner of the bedpost, and flopped it down onto his legs. Not the most graceful move but she took it from there, wrapping an end of the towel over both her hand and his erection, just in time for him to squeeze his eyes closed and lose himself in a release that actually hurt almost as much as it relieved.

He was conscious of light touches that made him whimper, and then the absence of Leia's warmth beside him and her weight on the bed. When he opened his eyes she was coming back with a damp cloth, with which she gently but efficiently sponged him and then tucked him back into his pants and buttoned him up. "All right?" she asked, looking hard at his face as she dropped the cloth on the floor.

He nodded. "Hurt a little, that's all." Seeing her expression he quickly added, "Not what you did. The whole . . ." He made an awkward gesture like some kind of an obscene fountain. "Hope it was just the first time after the freezing."

She lay down next to him again, her head resting on her arm and her other hand back on his chest. "Your heart is fast," she commented.

"Yeah. Either it's from sex or I'm about to have a syncope."

She laughed and pressed her face into his shoulder. "Was that completely shameless?" she asked, a bit muffled by his shirt.

He wondered if she was really wondering, so he actually thought before answering. "You know, yeah," he said. "But that's right, 'cause there's no reason you should have any shame, between us. It was . . ." He struggled for the right word. "Thoughtful."

" _Thoughtful_."

"Yeah." Now free to do so, he wove his fingers into her hair. "I was worried and you took care of me."

"Is that what I did?"

"Uh-huh. Now I don't have to worry about it." Putting on a teasing smile, he nudged her with his knee. "Though you never know, I might get worried again in a while."

"I imagine I'll be the first to know," she said, responding in kind, before laying her head back down on his chest.

Now that the bit of stinging had faded, he lay still and let himself enjoy the slow, lazy feeling that came after release. Only his fingers moved, lightly stroking her shoulder. She seemed comfortable, content.

Or . . . he wondered suddenly whether this was, in fact, the kind of situation where he should give something in return. She'd taken that first step; might be the time for him to take things further, too. Even without his full strength back he could touch her - or -

Her breathing made a little noise, and he looked at her and realized she'd fallen asleep. So maybe now was not the time. She seemed content after all.

Well. One worry down.

Giving Chewie the good news could wait until tomorrow.

. . . the good news about joining the rebellion, that is. There were some things Chewie didn't really need to know.


	35. swept along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever Leia may be ready for (or not), the Alliance's plans are moving them all along. And, a momentous evening in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was no chapter last week. Bad weather. Migraines.

**Part 35: above Sullust; Endor**

 

Luke still wasn't back.

She wasn't . . . not worried, exactly, or at least not worried that he was dead or in trouble. Somehow she felt like she would know, that if anything had really happened to him, this - well, all right, it _was_ worry of a kind - this worry would turn itself into a dread. She'd know. She'd never have been able to say how, but she felt like she'd know.

Only, it was taking him longer to join the fleet than she'd expected. Longer than he'd suggested he'd be. Maybe that meant nothing and he was just taking more time with his teacher.

What she felt, it was the anxiety of the planner. The one who likes things neat and tied up. Their attack on the new Death Star was coming sooner and sooner, and Luke not being here was not part of her plan. He'd wanted to be there with them, to help take it down, as the one who'd brought down the first one. But also, a dark morbid fear in the back of her mind kept whispering, what if she died and never saw him again?

The day grew closer, and she found herself twisting her hands in the backs of meetings, and wandering the halls of the flagship hoping to hear . . . anything. She slid into bed every night -

That was another thing. She was still deliriously glad to have Han back and safe and getting better, and she was glad that he wanted to share her bed at night; she felt safe and comfortable and happy with him there, and yet underneath all that was more anxiety that she couldn't identify. Because . . . maybe because it was all open ahead of them now? Because anything could happen and she didn't know what that would be? 

Or how long he would be here.

It wasn't about whether anyone had noticed they were both sharing her room; they hadn't, or if they had the gossip had miraculously not reached Leia's ears. And considering the tenor of the gossip before she'd left to go and get him . . . that would be a miracle indeed. If there were gossip about this, there'd be a lot of it and it would be crude and loud. And that wasn't happening. Someone in requisition or personnel or something had asked her offhandedly if Captain Solo would like to be assigned quarters; she'd said, "I don't think so, I believe he's fine where he is," and that had been the end of the discussion. Presumably someone had also asked Han? But she figured they all thought he was sleeping on the _Falcon_ \- as Chewie actually was - and as he usually did, so there was nothing really to wonder at.

So she crawled into bed with him every night, and he was always - so _there_. So present, as if he had nothing else to focus on but her. They hadn't . . . the physical side of their relationship hadn't changed much, other than that one time. He was so much better but he wasn't at full strength yet (which was another worry about the battle, but at least she was confident in his ability to fly) and it just didn't seem like the time. 

She did want him. She knew that now, was sure of it. The feelings she had lying next to him, or when he'd move close and wrap himself around her from behind, would make her blush to try to describe (not that she ever would). And she sometimes thought, at the _most_ inopportune moments - like in the middle of a briefing - about that one afternoon when she'd taken action to allay his fears. It wasn't only that it had been a quite . . . inspiring experience. There was just a whole lot less mystery about the whole thing now -

\- _the whole thing_ referring to everything that was part of what happened in sex, not just his particular . . . thing - though she supposed there was a lot less mystery about that now, too -

\- and that meant not so much of her feelings had to be devoted to nerves and wondering, and she had a lot more room for want. She just needed for him to be completely himself again. And for them not to die.

And for Luke to come back, so she could stop worrying about him and focus. Because thinking about Luke was probably no more conducive to being with Han than thinking about Han's hands on her breasts was to following a briefing on naval strength. For example.

She dreamed about him one night - Luke, not Han. It was a strange dream even for her. They were somewhere so dimly lit that she couldn't tell where it was, although it was also fuzzy the way things are in dreams. She was mad at Luke, and crying, crying as hard as she'd ever cried in her life, but she didn't know the reason for either. But then he started running away from her and she wanted him to come back, and she called after him but he didn't stop, and she chased him but she couldn't run because it was a dream, and then she was crying even more.

Then she was in a desert, like Tatooine except that it only had one sun - but then, when she was a child she hadn't known that Tatooine had two suns, and for some reason she knew she was a child now. There was a boy who was clearly Luke, and he was mad about something and kicking a little rock around. Then he saw her, and he squinted his eyes at her and said, "You're not here."

Confused and a little irritated, she replied, "Yes I am."

"No you're not. You're _never_ here."

Before she could argue, there was a sound from behind her like the ignition of Luke's lightsaber, and everything got dim again as if a shadow had come over the sun(s), and the boy screamed and she woke up.

She sat up in bed, and Han was coughing. For the most part this had stopped by now, but lying down seemed to exacerbate the remaining irritation in his lungs. He was sitting up already, and she leaned close to him and rubbed his back.

"Sorry I woke you," he mumbled, his voice scratchy.

"You didn't." She tucked her head against his shoulder. "It was Luke."

"Luke woke you?"

"I mean, I was having a dream."

He coughed again, and when he spoke his voice was even hoarser. "About Luke."

"Sort of. I don't know _what_ it was about. It was strange. But he was there."

"You're worried about him." 

She gave a hum of semi-agreement, rubbing her face against his sleeve a little. "Maybe. He's late."

"He'll be fine."

"Yeah. Probably."

Han gave a last emphatic-sounding cough and rubbed his ribcage. "Ugh. That still hurts."

"Probably heal better if you could stop coughing." She put her hand over his.

"Think a lot of things would be better if there wasn't carbonite in my damn lungs." He kissed her temple. "Come on, let's lie back down."

"I could get you some water?"

"Won't help." More kisses, some landing on her forehead. "It's okay, come here."

She twisted toward him as he lay them both down, wrapping her arms around his neck. They couldn't sleep like this; she'd lose feeling in her shoulder and her arm bones were probably digging into the back of his head. But it felt good for a while.

His hand rubbed her arm that stretched over him. "Love you, sweetheart," he rasped through a few more tiny coughs.

She would have answered, but she thought he might be asleep already. Carefully she extracted her arm from under his neck and nestled more comfortably against his side. 

 

There were times in Leia's life - a lot of them; more, she thought, than there could be in the average being's life - when things happened so fast that she didn't have time to have feelings about them. Alderaan . . . Alderaan had not been one of those things; the threat had been dragged out long enough for her to feel the horror turn to dread and fear, to try to negotiate, then to feel the full extent of her helplessness and despair. She couldn't afford to let it sink in, but she had time to be aware of it.

But other times. _Futile attempt - losing - Luke in danger - so many pilots lost - LUKE IN DANGER - Death Star gone - Luke fine - Han - we won?_

_Han and Luke missing - Luke injured, unconscious - base under attack - ice falling in on her - Vader - narrow escape - Han - giant space worm?!_

No one could be expected to keep up with a day like that.

This was another one. _Last briefing - Luke still not here - but Han was, close enough to touch, not minding her attached to his hip even in front of the whole Alliance -_ General?! _\- and Luke, Luke was here after all!_

There _was_ something wrong with Luke, he as much as admitted it. But it felt different from after Bespin, after he'd lost his hand, after they'd lost Han. Something was up, but "wrong" wasn't the right word. Whatever it was, he was . . . happy about it. A bittersweet kind of happy that had a sense of deep loss mixed in.

He said to ask him another time, and she would. She had other things to deal with at the moment.

"General?" she asked the minute the door of her quarters had closed behind her and Han.

He shrugged.

"When did - how long - ?"

"Few days."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I was going to tell you," he said. "Obviously."

"And you didn't because . . ."

He gestured at the pile of datapads on her table. "I read that thing. And then, you know. We were distracted."

She was blushing now, but she stood firm. "Did you know then, that you were leading this strike?"

"Yeah," he said simply.

She stood there looking at him - a little thin, a little pale, a little, well, scruffy. His pants hung low on his slightly narrower hips. He was facing her with total openness, surrender.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because it's what I'm good at," he said. "I know there's going to be a run on the station, but the X-Wings -"

"No," she said. "You joined the Alliance. Why?"

"Leia."

"Han."

He spread his hands. "How could I do anything else? _Leia_."

She closed the distance between them and leaned into his space, pressing her face into his neck. He bent down and lifted her up at the same time, folding over her.

They stood there for a long while, his hands running up and down her back, her fingers twisted into the opening of his shirt; while she thought about how all that _wide open_ in front of them felt just that little bit more defined. _General Solo_. Then she was picturing her nineteen-year-old self going overnight from being escorted to garden parties by diplomats' sons to dating a general - in his thirties, yet - and she almost laughed. Even picturing what her parents would have thought of that was more funny than painful, now.

Though thinking of her parents somehow reminded her of -

"I have to talk to Luke," she said.

" _Now_?"

Too late she realized that remark had been abrupt. "No," she said, leaning her cheek against Han's chest. "Not right now. But he wanted to tell me about something, and - I think it matters. I mean, anything Luke wanted to tell me would be important, but I was getting the impression this was different." She looked up and lifted a hand to Han's cheek. "But not right this minute. General."

He gave her a half-grin that didn't reach his eyes, and she wasn't sure if he was feeling offended so she tugged him down and kissed him. 

When they returned to her quarters after dinner that night though, something was different. He kissed her as soon as the door closed, and there was something needy about it that she didn't usually feel from him. He usually seemed so careful not to be asking any more from her than she wanted to give.

This, however, was not anything she didn't want to give, and so she threw herself into returning it, touch for touch; until he was actually picking her up, properly lifting her with an arm under her knees, and she thought he maybe shouldn't be trying this with his ribs and all, but she didn't want him to feel . . . weak, somehow she thought that might be important, so she didn't say anything. He placed her on the bed (she didn't miss the wince, but again let it go), and then he was lowering himself over her and she thought, _oh. Now. All right._

At least she'd been shaving her legs and all, just in case.

She wrapped her arms around him as they kissed, so that he would know it was all right. Then he was kissing her neck - not new - and then starting to undo the front of her shirt, kissing down her chest and between her breasts, which _was_ new. There were some nerves on her part, but they were definitely outweighed by want for what was about to happen. "Han," she murmured, her fingers running through his hair, because she was suddenly hit by a wave of how much she loved him, and she needed to hear herself say his name.

He lingered with his mouth where it was, low enough that she could feel his chin on her breasts, and then he lifted his head and kissed her on the cheek instead.

_Oh, hell_ , she thought, _he thinks I want him to stop._

She tugged him back to her mouth and kissed him deeply, but when she tried to tell him it was all right to go on, what came out instead was a nervous, "Is everything all right?"

"Sure," he said. It was unconvincing.

A sudden thought occurred to her, and she asked delicately - or, probably not delicately at all, actually - "Is everything . . . um. Working?"

He blinked down at her a few times, then his face cleared. "Oh. Yeah. Uh - no, uh, no problems. Fine."

She nodded. She meant to say, _then, come here._ Or, something else. What? _Take me?_

They were going to die on the forest moon of Endor without ever doing this because she was terrible at it.

She pulled him into another kiss and he leaned more of his weight against her from the side, and - yes, all right, everything was working, she could tell that now. Good.

So?

Just as she was talking herself into untucking his shirt from his pants, he broke the kiss and rolled back onto his side, one hand stroking her hair back from her face in a way that felt . . . kind of final. Leia felt herself frowning.

And oh no, now she was wondering whether he was worried that she wasn't ready, or whether _he_ wasn't feeling ready yet, and maybe he'd hurt his ribs, and she'd be stuck in this quandary forever. Unless he gave her a clear sign. Because she couldn't give him a sign that she wanted to continue, not now that she was worried he wasn't ready. Then he'd feel his manhood was being impugned. Or something.

Really, how did anyone ever have sex? Did they all just stop thinking about it?

He kissed her, and then he said, "I'm going to go wash up," and he climbed over her off the bed and went into the refresher. She sighed.

 

The forest moon of Endor - was another one of those days.

Fighting, chasing and being chased by stormtroopers on speedbikes - all right, fine. Her adrenaline was up, but she was fine. The probable concussion - less fine. Being lost alone in the woods - also not great, but she was handling it. The little bear things who thought her uniform was evidence that she was planning to attack them - she was handling that, too, especially since it seemed she could appease them by letting them make her some human-appropriate garments out of blankets. Not the height of fashion, but it was a lot better than the last thing someone had made her wear on a strange planet.

She was handling it all.

The little fellows wanting to eat her friends? Handling it. 3PO as a god? All right, that was more hilarious than anything. Planning their attack on the Empire installation around an Ewok campfire? Also, handled.

And then Luke blew her world open and all those things she'd been handling sort of piled on top of _Vader_ and _brother_ and _Jedi_ and _Vader_.

Because she knew; she knew everything all at once. When Luke said "my sister," he said it in the context of the Force. Of power. There was never a moment when she had the purely happy thought that Luke was her brother without the shade of Vader. No, she was following his thought right from that thread. Vader was his father. Vader was the source of his power. He had a sister, also carrying this lethal, this mysterious and shadowy power that came from Vader, and she knew that she was Vader's daughter at the same moment - maybe even _before_ she understood that she was Luke's sister.

But she didn't lie to him - yes, she had always known, in that part of her that had always reached for Luke and been warmed by him. She could try to focus on that, with the help of that brightness Luke carried with him.

Except. 

Luke had identified for her that grief, that empty place, that had been with her all her life, even before the loss of her parents. The sadness that Han's love hadn't touched. He'd identified it, he'd filled that place, and just as soon he'd told her that he was going off in search of suicide. _For Vader_. He was choosing Vader.

_He was running away from her and she wanted him to come back, and she called after him but he didn't stop, and she wanted to chase him . . ._

But this was no dream. Though Han's anger made as little sense as something from one of her dreams - what did _he_ have to be angry with Luke about?

Well, other than Luke deserting the mission, which - was a fair point. But it felt like there was something else.

And she wanted to tell Han, she wanted to spill the whole thing, but she also wanted the comfort of lying in his arms tonight, and she couldn't take the risk that he would be horrified and get away from her as fast as he could. And if that was dishonest, well. Look at who she was. What she came from.

Their hut had some privacy but not much - it was high off the ground but the windows were just holes in the walls, and the door didn't latch. Still, she thought recklessly, if he wanted sex she wouldn't protest. They could probably put something up against the door. It would - no, it might not distract her that much, but she felt like throwing caution to the wind tonight. Everything was insane, nothing made sense, nothing mattered. Why not.

When they got into the hut he saw that she was still crying - she didn't mean to be, she just couldn't seem to stop - and he shut the little door and took her face between his hands, drying her tears with his thumbs and murmuring, "All right, all right. I'm sorry."

"It's not -" She'd been about to say _it's not you_ , but whatever problem they were having it seemed like that might make it worse. "It's not that. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm - I'm sorry -"

"Shh, shh." He pulled her in close again, running his fingers through her hair. "Been a long day. Your head hurt?"

Yes, actually. She nodded into his chest.

"Come on, let's get some sleep." He blew out the little lantern that had been barely illuminating the room and tugged her toward the sleeping pallet. She meant to give him some signal, to kiss him, or - or did she? But he was so gentle, taking off the strange sandals she was wearing, loosening the band in her hair, and her head _did_ ache, and . . .

She dozed, she didn't know for how long, but when she woke again he was still lying awake. Or, maybe, had slept some and then woken up, like her. He was staring at the ceiling of the hut with his eyes open. 

"It's all right," he said when he knew she was awake. "Go back to sleep."

_Talk to me_ , she wanted to say, _like before when you were worried, tell me what this is._ But she was so, so tired. She pressed herself closer to him, putting her arm across him, and tried to forget about Luke, Vader, the battle, everything and just focus on the sound of Han's breathing.


	36. toward an end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A last moment before the battle; and one peek into another mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scheduled downtime will probably coincide with the small window in which I could have posted tomorrow; so here is an early chapter.

**Part 36: the forest moon of Endor**

 

Han woke, looked out the "window" (a hole cut in the wall of their borrowed hut) at the trees blowing in the light wind, and thought, _Let's stay here._

Forget the Empire. Forget the Alliance. Just stay here where it was peaceful. He was a free man now, free from the shadow of Jabba; he could do it. Not share Leia with the rest of the galaxy. Only with the trees.

Chewie would like it, this whole place was like a miniature of Kashyyyk. He could even bring his family.

They'd see the new Death Star being built every time they looked up at the sky, like a hostile sun, but hey. Every place had its downside.

Yeah. He'd convince Leia of this plan right after he convinced her that the _Falcon_ could travel through time.

Leia stirred a little on the pallet next to him. It was funny that she wasn't awake earlier, given how anxious she'd been last night. Maybe she'd cried herself out.

He rolled closer to her, breathed in the sort of woodsy-floral smell of her hair (shampoo overlaid with campfire smoke), and tried not to think about what had made her cry so much that she couldn't tell him about. When she was the one who was always saying they should talk about things.

And tried not to think about Luke at all, because whether he was wondering what he had to do with Leia crying, or thinking about the kid going off to face Vader again, either way he felt sick. What had he told Leia last night, what was between them, what limb would he be missing when he came back _this_ time - if he came back at all. How much of all of this was Han's fault.

It wasn't far-fetched. Luke going after Vader now had to have something to do with what had happened when they met on Bespin; and Luke had only been on Bespin because Han had so obediently baited the trap for Vader. Brought himself and Leia there. Screamed loud enough under torture that the kid had heard it across the galaxy or something, if he believed Leia. And at this point he might as well - it wasn't as if the Force hadn't been showing off a bit lately.

Sure, levitating 3PO, turning himself into some kind of flying gymnast - you could look at that as Luke showing off. But if Han was going to believe in a mysterious power at work in the universe, he was going to go all the way and believe that power was trying to make him pay attention. Skepticism was healthy and all - it had kept him alive this long - but there was nothing smart about not paying attention when somebody was talking to you.

Anyway, how else could they explain Luke finding them on Bespin in the first place? They couldn't.

And Leia believed. _In Luke,_ Han thought sourly, but no, she believed in the Force, too. She always had, with every inch of her traditional Alderaanian soul. And then there was the flight to Bespin itself . . .

He kissed her forehead to feel her start to respond, to stretch against him. Her eyes blinked open for half a moment and she pushed herself closer, finding a place to pillow her head on his outstretched arm, rubbing her face a little against his sleeve. She wasn't really awake. Arm reaching across his waist, she settled back into stillness. Han smiled and kissed her again, her hair, her forehead, whatever he could reach. When she stretched herself again, her legs rubbing against his through that bizarre dress she was wearing, he held her tight and rolled them both so that she was mostly draped on top of him.

She moved more consciously then, though without opening her eyes. Her hand slid inside the open collar of his shirt and rested on his bare chest. She didn't speak, but made a little humming noise that still somehow sounded like a question.

"Hey," he said quietly, running his fingers through her hair.

She nodded against him but made no other reply. He grinned.

Then - he couldn't even say that she _startled_ ; she didn't have time for that, just skipped right over it and sat up so fast that her hand pressed painfully into his gut. "Is it late?" she asked, wide awake.

"No," he said in his most soothing tone, reaching for her, rubbing her arm. "The sun's just coming up."

She sat frozen, staring around at the hut, looking both alert and confused. If he didn't know her as well as he did, he'd almost think she was sleepwalking. Finally something in her face cleared and she said, "Then it's late."

There was something pulling powerfully at him as he looked at her, and after a moment he realized what it was. Not a surprise that a spacer like him wouldn't think about it at first, but - he'd never woken up with her in natural light before. The blinds were drawn on Cloud City, Kenobi's place on Tatooine'd had shutters pulled tight against the desert winds, and every other night they'd spent together had been on the _Falcon_. 

The bits of early sun filtered through the trees couldn't make her any prettier to him than she always was, but there was still something striking about the picture. The sun lighting up the loose strands of hair around her face. The shadows on her body as she hugged her knees; the way the light just barely fell on the outline of her breasts in the loose dress. It felt . . . intimate, in a way that waking up with her in the _Falcon_ 's artificial light somehow never had.

Once a planetside kid, always a planetside kid, he supposed. Until this second he couldn't have said that he had sentimental memories of mornings on Corellia.

He still didn't, come to think of it. But clearly something in him remembered.

Leia, after another moment of sitting awkwardly alert but motionless, sprang into action and started rummaging for her Alliance gear. He wanted to soothe some of her frenzy, bring back those brief moments of peace, but she was so on edge now that he was afraid to touch her.

"I smell breakfast," he said instead.

She nodded and said with a flash of her usual humor, "No doubt we'll be mixing rations with something that was very recently alive. And hopefully isn't anymore."

It smelled like meat, so he couldn't argue.

Still sitting on the floor, she'd edged the dress up from under her hips and she swiveled away from him to pull it over her head. He looked unabashedly. He'd been too hibernation-blind to see her like this on Tatooine and he drank it in, the strength in her back, the bumps of her spine, the scars on her shoulder which were now mostly white. The curve of her breast glimpsed from the side. Anyway, this was much better. On Tatooine she hadn't chosen to be unclothed in front of any of them - whether she specifically minded him seeing her didn't really matter; it was still wrong. This now was just between them and she knew what she was doing.

Not for the first time, he thought _I should have_. . . He'd stopped so many times and it was hard even for him to understand why. She'd never seemed unwilling or even reluctant - a little nervous maybe, but he'd have to be stupid if he didn't know by now that she'd never done any of this kind of thing before. He just . . . he was looking for something else? Not something more than her, not some _one_ else, definitely not and probably never again (which was a terrifying thought). But - something. Some sign from her. Something that said she really, really wanted him.

You know. All he wanted was for a deeply introverted virginal princess to tell him how much she wanted his body. Completely reasonable expectations.

If they died today he was going to hate himself.

If they didn't, maybe he'd just ask her.

Not that, really, what he was feeling right now had a lot to do with whether he died with or without memories of sleeping with her. But if they had done it already, things would be different enough between them that right now, in the last moments before the storm, he could have gone over there and put his arms around her, touched her skin before she got dressed. Probably not much more than that, in this voyeur's dream of a place, but that would make a difference. Better than longing from across the hut until she put her shirt on.

She stalled out again once she was mostly dressed, with one unlaced boot on and a foot halfway into the other one - just staring at the wall as if she didn't see it. The look on her face . . . Han had worked with a guy for a while, an older guy, who'd spent some time on Dathomir. If that guy could see Leia right now - there was an expression he'd have used, for that look she had in her eyes. _Fey_. Like something had taken her over.

"Leia?" he asked.

She turned her head toward him as if the sound of her name had startled her - not the noise, not the fact of him speaking, but her name itself. Her brow was furrowed.

"Here, I'll help," he said, still having no idea what was going wrong inside her head right now, and hoping that he could snap her out of it if he pretended everything was normal. He settled at her feet and guided the remaining boot on. Of course no one could really properly lace someone else's boots - they'd always be too tight or not tight enough - but he could get them through the eyelets and then maybe she'd take it from there.

"Han," she said. She had looked so strange there for a while that he was glad she remembered who he was.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" he asked. He grabbed her hands, held them as if he'd just wanted the moment of contact, then guided her fingers onto her bootlaces.

She started to make an obedient knot but then let the laces fall. "This is it," she said. "With Vader. If Luke's right, if he's on that battle station - this is our chance. We have to get him this time. We have to take him out."

"All right, well, to do that you're going to have to tie your shoes."

"I mean it," she said with an intensity that dragged his eyes up to meet her dark ones. "He can't keep - someone like that will just keep destroying if he isn't stopped. He has to be stopped, now. Today."

She held his gaze, then, to his great relief, bent and started tying her boot.

"We'll, we'll . . ." He was looking for something to say, but he was already irrelevant. Whatever had taken her had moved on, and she might have been alone now as she calmly tied her laces. "It'll be all right."

She leaned in and kissed him, deep but briefly, one hand on his cheek. "I know I don't make any sense," she said.

"I wouldn't say not _any_ . . ."

With a twitch of her eyebrow she kissed him again, then took a deep breath and said, "Well. Let's go."

 

_An interlude . . ._

_Opportunity was what he saw first, because that was who he was. The weapon. He didn't even need to look for this weakness; it was handed to him - and what a weakness. This child, this deluded desert child, had a weakness for family so wide that the galaxy itself could fit through._

_There was time for only a quick image, flashes, glimpses of exactly what the opportunity was and what it would look like. A girl. Even freeborn, girls were nothing in that desert waste. She'd have been shoved aside her whole life. Worked to the bone and ignored. And then ignored by the Jedi, too._

_She'd be angry, was what he saw in that second. Frustrated and hungry for attention, power, anything that would get her off that rock. Anything that meant she could be better, stronger, than her brother. That's what he'd use._

_That was all he had time for, before his gambit worked and the boy erupted._

_But later. While he tried not to watch the boy die - or rather, while he tried to watch but not to care - there were more images. More questions._

_The anger would be simmering under the surface, or else she'd have been reckless; and if you were reckless on Tatooine you died. A lot of it would have been beaten down. She'd be a little mousy thing on the surface, washed out, like Beru._

_He remembered Owen and Beru. He'd tried not to, but - once they identified the boy, once they traced where he came from - the back of his mind had insisted on pointing out that Anakin Skywalker had accidentally caused the death of his own stepbrother._

_No, Vader had caused the death of Skywalker's stepbrother._

_It was just that it was something of a novelty. He'd killed so many, but not usually by_ accident _._

_A quick pang of a question - had the girl been there? - but no, young Skywalker was fretting over his sister, you didn't do that unless a person was still alive._

_Nineteen years. She might have been married by then, even, and living on her own patch of wasteland._

_The boy screamed._

_But all of this made no sense. Obi-Wan had made many mistakes but he had never shunted aside a girl because she was a girl. He was a fool, but not that kind of a fool. And the boy's sister was here, on the moon; she hadn't been abandoned on Tatooine, she was with the rebels, so why had she never come up before? He didn't like not understanding. It reminded him of his confusion after the first Death Star, with Obi-Wan's reappearance and a strange pilot who used the Force -_

_The boy screamed._

_But no, the confusion had started earlier; confusion and frustration because no one had ever resisted him like this before, no mere politician should have been able to keep Vader at bay. The image in his mind now was of Leia Organa's frightened face, big dark eyes surrounded by pallor, and then he knew._

_He had no way of knowing - pain had driven conscious thought from his son's mind -_ Skywalker's son's _mind - but he still knew. The only wonder was how he'd never suspected before. Like giving the boy to Owen in the desert and calling him_ Skywalker _, it was another bare half-attempt at concealment. Everyone knew the child was adopted. And they flaunted her in the Imperial Senate._

_He wanted to call them stupid; but on the other hand he_ hadn't _ever spotted her, so._

_Leia Organa. He'd been catastrophically stupid._

__I always thought it'd be a girl. __

_And she'd been hurt enough already. Thoughts of opportunity faded._

_His son screamed._ Father, please! __

_All of this took perhaps twenty seconds. That last scream was only the final catalyst._

_Let it be said that in the end, Anakin Skywalker acted as much for his daughter as for his son._

_There was a little more time, later. Through the pain, the likes of which he hadn't felt in twenty-four years. While his son insisted on this futile attempt to save his dying body._

_"Your sister," he said._

_"She's all right. I can tell. She's with Han, he's taking care of her."_

_Han. Han. Solo? "The smuggler?" Didn't I freeze him in carbonite?_

_"Yeah, we found him. He's okay too." Luke's worried face brightened. "And Leia killed Jabba the Hutt."_

_Anakin almost laughed and choked himself on it, lungs on fire. Of course she did. So she was a good daughter of the sand after all._

_Then he remembered her kissing the smuggler and thought, and she has her mother's terrible taste in men._

_It was a poetic enough near-last thought._

 

Leia watched the Death Star bloom into fire, and felt her brother's mind touching hers; and she looked at Han and was thankful that at least one part of this story would be easy to tell him.


	37. how to move forward without moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's so much talking to be done. So. Much. Talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not at the end, but we're coming toward the end. Without giving anything away - this story won't follow EU canon;* it might follow new canon in some ways and not in others. Rest assured that in this version of the world, no one has a sad life or breaks up or has a kid who grows up to kill them. That said, if you are sensitive to anything that has a slight whiff of new canon, then you get to decide where the story ends for you. It might be here. It might be next chapter. No hard feelings!
> 
>  
> 
> *Disney giveth and Disney taketh away, but at least they taketh away The Courtship of Princess Leia.

**Part 37: the forest moon of Endor**

 

It took Han about twelve seconds longer than Leia had expected to say, "I have questions."

"So do I," she replied. "And not a lot of answers."

Han took another few seconds to stare into the bushes where their furry little friend had just disappeared. When he turned his gaze back to Leia he did not look any less confused. "Your - _actual_ brother?" he finally said.

She nodded.

"And - nobody mentioned this until now because . . . "

"I didn't know until last night."

She watched him open his mouth, close it again and frown, then start again. "Did he know?" he asked.

"I think he only just found out, too. His master must have told him."

"His -" Han frowned again. "Then he's known since he got back. He - that's what he wanted to tell you? But he didn't till last night?"

"I think," she said. "I guess."

He seemed to be studying some random spot off to her right. "He told you, last night, that he was your brother; and then he went off to throw himself at Vader."

Leia thought she'd managed not to wince at the mention of Vader's name. "Yeah."

"Well. I think I understand last night now." He huffed a little. "Wait. You have the same birthday."

"I think we must be twins." This had occurred to her while she was thinking about her biological mother. "Someone could have made up our birthdays I guess, but my mother died when I was born and he has no memory of her, so he can't be any older . . ." That was a slip. It had also occurred to her last night that there was no way she _should_ have any memory of her mother - or rather, there was only one way, and it involved some stuff she wasn't ready to think about yet. She hadn't meant to imply that she could remember a mother who'd died the day she was born.

Han moved past that, though. "So his aunt and uncle were yours too? How'd you end up getting adopted instead?"

"That's one of the answers I don't have." She shook her head. "They weren't rich. Maybe they could only afford one of us and they thought a boy would be more useful."

"Maybe," Han said doubtfully.

"My father always said he was there when I was born," she added. "That he and my mother had always wanted a girl and he heard there was one right there who needed a home, and everything was so chaotic with the coup . . . I guess that could still be true."

"Do you know who she was? Your birth mother?"

She shrugged. "Someone named Padme who had the bad luck to be in labor the day the Republic was falling. I always thought maybe she died because of something that happened in the fighting."

Han nodded. "I guess - I guess if - so then Anakin Skywalker is your father, too? The Jedi?"

That time she did wince, and he saw.

"What?" he asked. "Was he not really Luke's father? I mean, your fath- you know."

"No, he was." She swallowed. "Han, there's more though. There's - this part isn't so good. I don't know what you're going to think - I don't know how to -"

"Hey, hey." He started to put his arm around her shoulders, then remembered her wound and settled for stroking her hair. "Whatever it is, it's all right."

"I'm not sure it can be." She watched his face anxiously, trying to predict what he would say. What he would do. What _anyone_ could possibly think, other than that she was related to a monster . . .

"All right, stop, hold on." He stood up and she readied to follow him, but he just stepped over her legs and sat down on her other side, so that he could wrap his arm around her and pull her into his chest without aggravating her injury. "There, I've got you," he said. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. Tell me."

She couldn't tell whether she felt more like crying or throwing up. She turned her face into him for a moment, pressing her nose against his shirt and waiting for the feeling in her stomach to pass. It didn't. "Anakin Skywalker is our father," she said, forcing the words out in a monotone. "But he didn't die in the Purge. Vader didn't kill him."

"What, so he's alive?"

She nodded.

"So where's he been?"

She grabbed his hand and held it tightly, selfishly. "He is Vader. He became Vader."

Silence. An eternity of silence. Five seconds at least.

"Vader," Han said, as if clarifying, or testing it out. "Vader is - _Darth Vader_ is Anakin Skywalker? The Jedi hero?"

She nodded into his shirt.

"And he's -" His hand tightened on her shoulder. "So then - wait, he - he's - he -" Han moved her away from him so that he could look her in the face. "Did he know?"

This wasn't, at least, the horrified rejection she'd been fearing; but what it was was confusing. "Did who know what?"

"Vader," said Han, and the name was suddenly filled with a hatred the intensity of which she'd never heard in his voice before. "Did he know, when he was torturing you, that you were his own daughter?"

Another thought she'd had herself, and uneasily dismissed. "He can't have," she said. "He was too - no. I seemed to confuse him actually."

"But he must know about Luke, I mean the kid's practically got 'son of Anakin Skywalker' tattooed on his face. So when he fought with Luke, when he _cut off his hand_ , he . . ."

"Yeah," Leia said, because there really wasn't much else to say about it.

Han cursed, creatively, in his native language, which actually made Leia feel a little better. "So you just found all this out last night. Luke, Vader . . ."

"Yeah."

He cursed again. "I'm sorry. I mean - not about Luke. I guess he's a pretty good consolation prize."

Leia snorted a half-laugh. "He is, I guess. Or - he's the prize, it just comes with . . . conditions."

She was giving Han enormous amounts of credit right now. Which was a mild way of describing the relief that was flowing through her body so hard she was worried she might faint.

Actually, she really, really might. "Han," she said, squeezing his hand again. "I'm sorry, I don't feel - I'm really dizzy -"

"Here, no, you're all right." Somehow he was scooping her up, settling her over his lap, cradling her against his chest. "I have you, you're all right. Deep breaths."

She held onto him tightly and tried to breathe.

"So what was Luke thinking, anyway?" he asked. "His father, his responsibility?"

She was starting to feel sort of normal again. For whatever value of "normal" her life was going to be from now on. "He thinks he can convert Vader, or redeem him, or something - I don't know, make him weep over his evil deeds."

"And then what? What does he think happens when he brings Vader home to meet the family? What's the endgame there?"

"I have no idea." She sighed. " _My brother_ is a bit of an optimist."

" _Yeah_." A moment of quiet, during which she felt his head resting on top of hers. "You think he's really going to - bring Vader here?"

"I've never hoped so much for Luke to fail," she said, shivering. "If there really is any justice in the galaxy - Vader went down with that Death Star."

"You don't - ah . . ."

"Don't?"

"Know?"

She lifted her head, cautiously. "Know what?"

"You know - you said you could feel that Luke was all right. You can't tell if Vader . . ."

A chill ran through her at the idea, but she shook her head. "I don't have Vader radar. Although . . . that is something else. Something Luke said, he said . . ." This, in a way, was a scarier thing to tell him than her relationship to Vader. "He said that I have the same power with the Force that he does. Which just seems ridic-"

"I know you do," Han interrupted.

"You - what?"

He exhaled heavily, pulling her close again. "All I've been thinking about since Vader turned up on Bespin was that you said we shouldn't go there. You kept saying something was wrong, and I didn't listen -"

"Han, no one would have listened. I couldn't say what was wrong, and there was nowhere else for us to go." Still. She'd forgotten about that somehow, those weeks of terror, and she felt cold now that he'd reminded her.

"But you knew," he said. "I bet - I bet if somebody taught you, like Luke, you'd have been able to know for sure that Vader was there."

She burrowed deeper into his embrace and said, "I don't know if I want to learn."

"Well, that's all right." He kissed the top of her head. "Seems kind of useful is all."

"Or terrifying. Also, five minutes ago you didn't believe in the Force."

"I've believed a little longer than five minutes. That stuff Luke did was pretty persuasive, even if I couldn't see most of it."

"Yeah," she agreed. 

He kissed her hair a few more times, then said, "Let's get married."

Leia frowned, then sat up. "What?"

"Let's get married," he repeated.

"Are you . . . you," she sputtered, finally landing on, "That is not an appropriate response to any of this."

"It's not a response to anything."

"Because I've just told you that my father -"

"Your father died four years ago," he said gently. "Although - right, if you're not done talking about this Vader thing, we can, you know, we can come back to getting married later."

For several moments she had no idea what to say. What eventually came out was, "So that's it - all right, Vader's my father, let's move on?"

"Hey, I get that it's a lot, for you, and we can talk about it all you want. But I think you think this changes something, and it doesn't." He shrugged. "It doesn't change anything, about Luke, about you, us, whatever. Yeah, it's kind of scary, but . . ." Another shrug. "You were both a little scary already."

"Han."

"The Force being real is creepy," he added. "That there's this thing out there I can't understand. You being able to use it, or sense it, or whatever, is not the creepy part."

"And . . ." She looked into his eyes, frowning. "That's what you want?"

It took him only a moment to catch up. "You and me? Yeah, that's what I want." He went quiet for a while, stroking her hand with his thumb. "I mean - all I've ever had in the galaxy is Chewie and the _Falcon_ , and you." He grinned. "And Luke, but turns out you're a two-for-one deal. Marry you, get a brother. Official." 

"Han," she said, because no other words were coming to her.

"But hey, we can talk about it later. I was going to say it different, anyway." He kissed her temple. "I was going to _ask_."

Leia let her head fall onto his chest in defeat. "All right," she mumbled.

"That's all right to talking about it later? Because I'm probably going to want a little more enthusiasm if it's, you know, _the_ yes."

"Talk about it later," she agreed. After . . . after. After she adjusted to what life after the Emperor was. She didn't - she didn't even have anywhere to go. If she wasn't part of a military anymore, she had no home. No job. No money. She was an itinerant princess.

She couldn't marry Han just because it would give her a family and a home and . . . someone to tell her what was going to happen next. Not _just_ for that.

A cheer went up in the clearing; then another, even louder.

"We should go see," Leia said.

What she would remember for the rest of her life about that day was Han helping her to her feet, the way he hugged her close to his side one more time before they returned to the clearing, and then the words "The Emperor was dead before the Death Star blew! And Vader's dead, too!"

The corporal who was shouting had to raise his voice even further to be heard over the cheering. "Captain Skywalker reported to command! He says they killed each other! Vader and the Emperor!"

Leia, without knowing she was going to do it, closed her eyes, tipped her face up to the sky, and said, "Thank you."

Next to her, Han asked, "Who are you . . ."

"Him," she said. "Vader. For dying. For not making me spend more than one night in the same galaxy as him, knowing I have his blood."

Han squeezed her hand, and then they were carried away in the revelry. They greeted the pilots, and eventually a lot of the command team, with tight embraces and introductions to their small hosts. They were given drinks and food; the food turned Leia's stomach (and not just because of the Ewoks' preference for undercooked meat), but she swallowed several glasses of that same old Yavin wine, produced from the depths of the flagship.

And she thought. And watched Han, grinning, hugging pilots, joking in Corellian with Wedge. And thought.

About how _fast_ it was. If you didn't count the months he'd been missing, they'd been a couple for what - six weeks? Who got married after six weeks?

Well, lots of people. On some worlds marriages were arranged and the couple only met that day. On some worlds - like Tatooine - life was so hardscrabble that people paired up quickly, to help each other survive.

Come to think of it, she really was a Tatooinian. So that was kind of a mark in Han's favor. Her people, apparently, did it this way.

Plus, people often got married fast during wartime. She could think of dozens of couples in the Alliance who'd rushed the ceremony before a big battle, and they all seemed fine. So far.

Her problem was it _felt_ too fast.

But on the other hand, did it?

She'd met Han when she wasn't even of age. He was the first being ever to notice and remark on her changing her hair to an adult style. He'd been there when she was sick, when she was hurt. He was the only being outside her family who'd ever held her while she cried. He'd saved her life, and she his. She'd spent months - years, really - wanting and wishing for him when she was lonely.

And . . .

Maybe it was only six weeks, but they'd spent those six weeks sharing tight quarters, sharing a bed most of the time. Working together. Eating every meal together.

(. . . recovering from torture inflicted by Leia's father together.)

The usual story was that a girl dreamed about a charming prince, but then they married and she was disappointed. But - well, except for the one thing - Leia and Han were basically already living as married, and she wasn't disappointed. She was at home.

So there was that.

Luke returning was a distraction, for the many obvious reasons - she was happy to see him, he was happy to see her, she had a lot of questions to which she hoped he had the answers; and also, despite the smile, he didn't look very well. He held up long enough for Han to pull both of them into a crushing embrace, long enough for Wedge to hug him and hand him a canteen that was probably full of wine, long enough to watch a bit of the Ewoks' singing, but all of that didn't take much time and soon enough he was slumping onto a log at the very edge of the merriment.

Leia - who now understood everything and knew that Han now understood everything and therefore had no qualms about abandoning him to go to _her brother_ \- sat down beside Luke without saying anything at first.

She didn't have to, as it turned out.

"He saved me," Luke said. "Our father."

Her stomach tightened, as it probably always would at that thought, but she settled herself with the calming reminder that Han was right. She'd had a father, a good one. Who'd loved her even though he must have known where she came from.

She just nodded.

"The Emperor was going to kill me, so he killed the Emperor. And it killed him. The . . ." Luke shuddered. "The Emperor was using this - he used the Force to create electricity, some kind of lightning. I've never seen anything like it, but it - it hurt like nothing else." He took a sip from the canteen in his hands. "It felt like what I felt from Han, in my vision. Of you and him on Bespin."

"Vader did that to him," she reminded Luke sharply. "Not with the Force; with the Empire's torture machines. The same ones he watched Tarkin use on me."

"I know," Luke said quietly. "I'm not making excuses for what he did before. There aren't any."

"He's dead?"

"I burned him," Luke confirmed. "It's what we did back home. I don't know what Jedi are supposed to do; when Master Yoda died, he just . . . faded away. Like Ben. His body disappeared, there was nothing left."

"Maybe that's what happens when they're good."

"He was good at the end." Luke took another drink from the canteen. "Maybe it wasn't enough."

She was starting to feel mean for hammering home the issue so hard, but . . . "He saved his own son," she said. "That's - I'm glad - obviously, I'm glad you're here and alive - and maybe he wouldn't have done that a year ago, maybe that does represent some . . . movement toward the good side. But it wasn't unselfish good. Lots of terrible people would spare their own family members, it doesn't mean he wasn't still mostly dark."

"I can't think," said Luke, "I can't think we both came from something that was all evil. I can't."

"I don't _want_ to," she returned. "But I'm not going to put on the rose-colored glasses."

He nodded. After a few moments of quiet, he asked, "Have you told Han?"

"Yes."

Luke handed her the canteen.

She drank from it more deeply than she should have. It was, indeed, Yavin wine. "If you drink this whole thing, you'll die," she said, handing it back.

"It was only half full when Wedge gave it to me."

"There's a lot you didn't tell me," she said. "You didn't tell me hardly anything."

"I don't know much more. I should have - I realized later I should have asked Ben more questions, but I was so shocked. And Master Yoda had just died."

"But Ben is . . . also dead?" He looked at her, and she sighed. "He's 'in the Force'?"

"Yeah." He swallowed a sip of wine. "I don't know if all Jedi do that. Come back in the Force. I saw -" He looked at Leia, shook his head, and said, "Never mind."

A cold chill went through her and she didn't ask. Instead, she said, "We're twins, aren't we."

He frowned. "Did I not mention that? Yeah. Funny, huh. We always thought it was such a coincidence, us having the same birthday."

"So why weren't we both raised on Tatooine?"

Luke shook his head again. "Ben just said we were hidden from our father."

"Hidden?" She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe _I_ was."

"Yeah. Telling the whole village I was Anakin's son doesn't seem like the greatest disguise. I think . . . he came from Tatooine but he never went back there. Not once. I think they figured he never would."

"So why not both of us?" She felt disloyal to her parents for even asking - it wasn't as if she wished she'd been raised in the desert by an aunt and uncle instead of being adopted, but she hated a logic hole.

"I've been thinking about that. I think . . . we can communicate in the Force, can't we."

Leia nodded. That part at least was inescapable.

"I kind of think - maybe they thought we'd be too noticeable if we were together. Twins who could talk without speaking. Apart, away from any other Force users, it was easier to hide what we were."

_What we are_ , Leia thought despairingly. Which brought her thoughts to Han, who was taking this all a little too well. Who was ready to just accept the whole package - Luke, Vader, the Force, all of it - not just accept it but marry into it. As if it were nothing. She should have been grateful, and she was really, but she was also afraid that it hadn't really sunk in yet. That he'd change his mind once he truly realized who he had married.

Or would he. Han loved her, that she didn't doubt. Han wanted her. 

Leia blinked into the darkness, suddenly realizing that yes, in fact; the Emperor was dead and tonight was a celebration and there was wine and yes, Han would want her. Tonight. She'd gotten her nerves up so many times, and here this was pretty obviously the night and she hadn't even thought about it until now.

Last night's recklessness was well behind her. They'd have to find a way to bar the door.

She took the canteen from Luke's hands and swallowed so much at once that she nearly choked.

When she went to hand it back, she realized he was trembling. "Luke?" she asked, setting the canteen on the ground.

"Yeah." He sounded as if his teeth were knocking together. "It's - it's fine. It's been happening now and then."

"Now and then since when?"

"Since the - lightning."

She felt his forehead, which was stupid, but it was the first thing that occurred to her. More rationally, she pressed her fingertips under his jawline to find his pulse. It seemed normal.

"Hey, you two."

To say that she'd never been so grateful to see Han would also be stupid - she'd been more grateful many times, on Tatooine for one - but the sight of him was still a significant relief. Even though her face also heated up at the reminder of what she'd been thinking before she noticed Luke was in distress.

"He's not well," she said, hoping Han hadn't noticed her blush. She might _be_ a stammering virgin, but that was no reason to act like one. Especially when Luke needed them.

Han sat down on Luke's other side and felt his forehead. Leia hid a smile; after all, this was serious.

"He was shocked," she said. "Or something. Some kind of energy from the Force."

"Emperor," Luke said, his teeth still rattling. "Like lightning from his hands."

"Well that's fancy," Han said. "Too bad he couldn't use his power for good. Some nice fireworks, maybe."

"If he was electrocuted . . ." Leia said.

Luke shook his head. "Not like that. Just - nerves, I think."

Han frowned, but Leia thought she understood. She took Luke's hand and explained, "He means it fried his nerves. The way the interrogation drugs do."

Luke nodded.

"Ah," Han said. "Sorry kid, but if that's it, there's no way out but through."

Harsh but true. Painkillers would help a little, but the nerve endings would have to repair themselves over time.

The shaking seemed to be slowing. Luke gave them a couple of slow nods. "It's better," he said. "It doesn't last long."

Leia hugged him with her good arm. Han clapped him - lightly - on the shoulder. "Did you even sleep last night?" he asked.

"Not much," Luke said.

"You don't have anything assigned, do you? You left . . ."

Luke turned his body to face Han. "Han, I know I left the mission. I'm -"

"Yeah. You're demoted again," Han said. "Field demotion. It's a thing. I'm knocking you down to the rank of Jedi."

"I'm not sure that's down," Leia said.

"I'm not sure it's a rank," said Luke.

"Tough," Han said. "The little guys gave us our own hut. Up on the fourth level. You better come stay with us, where we can keep an eye on you."

Leia blinked again. All right. Apparently this wasn't the night.

She was not going to mind. Her brother had been hurt and needed them, and her - future husband? - was putting her brother's needs first. It was a good thing.

. . . future husband?

She was still deciding.

"You won't mind?" Luke asked.

Han shook his head. Leia shook hers too, even though Luke wasn't looking at her.

"I should - Wedge has my pack, I think," Luke said. "I'll go find it."

"Look," Han said, pointing up into the rings of torches that illuminated the canopy. "It's four levels up, then two, three over from that ladder - that one, see?" He threw Leia a look. "We'll meet you there."

Luke nodded, but when Han stood and started to walk away, Luke whispered in Leia's ear, "Is this awkward?"

"I don't know," she whispered back, honestly. "I should, right?"

He shrugged. She shrugged too.

For the first time she thought they felt like siblings.

Han turned back and held out a hand, and with one more look at Luke she got up and went to take it. For a moment it had occurred to her to ask Luke what he thought of Han's proposal, but she suspected he either wouldn't have an opinion or would be automatically in favor. Because - why not? She could almost hear him. _You won't even need two vaporators or a herd of bantha as dowry_.

Actually.

She whipped her head around and looked back at her brother, still sitting on the log, looking sheepish. "Sorry," he said. "It wasn't on purpose."

Han was tugging at her hand, but she stopped to glare at Luke.

He held up his hands in laughing defense. "I can control it. I promise. I just - it got easier without me noticing."

With one last warning look she allowed Han to pull her away.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

There was really no point in hiding any of it. "Luke can talk to me in my mind."

"Has he always been able to do that?"

"No." Someday she would explain Cloud City, but she believed that to have been a first desperate attempt, not an indication that he could do it regularly back then.

"Can he _read_ your mind?"

She was about to say that she didn't know, when something told her that she actually did. "I don't think so, exactly. I think it's more just a read of - how I am, what I'm feeling. Unless I try to talk to him."

Han grunted a little in acknowledgment. When they reached the first ladder up to their hut, he asked, "Can he read me?"

"Probably," she admitted. "Maybe not as well."

"Okay."

The expected next question came while he was following her up the ladder. "Can _you_ read me?"

"No," she said, pulling herself up onto the first landing. "But," she added in the interest of honesty, "I might be able to someday. Even if he doesn't teach me, I might get enough practice from my connection to him . . ."

He hauled himself up to join her and looked her carefully in the eye, torchlight flickering on his face. "What if - is that a thing we can talk about? What if I don't want to be read?"

"We should talk about that," she agreed, nodding. "I don't want you to feel like I'm . . . manipulating you. If I ever learn how to read people like that."

He gently nudged her toward the next ladder and waited until she was climbing up to say, "Don't take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but - you are really, really good at sizing people up. Kind of uncanny."

Startled, she twisted to look down at him. "You think I'm doing it already?"

"Not on purpose. Though, I guess, now that you've been tipped off you'll probably figure it out."

Instead of climbing all the way onto the next platform she sat down on it, legs dangling, and waited until he'd climbed up enough to look at her. "Doesn't any of this scare you?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Sure it does." He freed one hand from the ladder and rested it on her knee. "But _you_ don't."

"How can you possibly want to marry me?" she asked softly.

"I kind of thought I'd be trying to explain why you should want to marry me," he said. "Go on up, we'll have some time to talk before Luke gets here."

She obeyed slowly, her mind still reeling. It was all just - unreal. Was this how Luke had felt when Obi-Wan told him he could use the Force? No, of course not. Luke was told he'd be following in the footsteps of a father worth idolizing. He didn't know the truth about the dark side of their family's gift. He hadn't felt it, been tortured by it, seen what it could do.

When Han closed the door of their hut behind them, the first thing she said was, "My parents have to have known. Were they ever going to tell me?"

"Maybe they weren't," Han said, folding his arms. "What good would it have done?"

"But what if I'd started - I don't know, choking people when I got mad?"

"They'd have found a way to make you stop, I guess. It's not like kids don't act up sometimes with or without the Force. If you'd started throwing rocks at animals they'd have had to make you stop that, too."

"I guess we're all lucky I wasn't a homicidal maniac as a child."

"You think he was?"

There was no need to ask who "he" was. She shrugged.

"Well," Han said, coming close and putting his arms around her waist. "You are probably the most - what's the word I want? - _ethical_ person I know. You never want to hurt anybody unless you have to. And Luke is . . ."

"Luke," she agreed.

"So I think we just have to agree that sometimes good kids have bad parents. And you're both lucky that someone hid you away." He bent and kissed her forehead. "And aside from all those good ethics . . ."

His tone had shifted. She raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

He gave her that devastating crooked grin. "You're sweet. And you're my friend, and you're pretty, and I love you. And we know we can get along together. So yeah. I want to marry you."

Leia sat down on the sleeping pallet, idly thinking they'd have to find another one for Luke. "I don't know whether that was very romantic or not at all," she said.

"I was trying for honesty." He sat down beside her and took her hands in his. "You know - what this is, between us; all the odds have been against us the whole time. And I think the one thing we know for sure by now is we're better together."

She fell into him, her face in his neck, arms around his waist. "Yes," she agreed. Because really - what else was she ever going to say? He'd been home for her for so long.

"Wait, is that 'yes,' yes?" he asked.

"No," she said, muffled by his shirt. "Because you haven't asked yet."

"Seriously?"

"I'm only thinking of you," she said, turning her face so that she could speak clearly. "You said you wanted to."

"I guess I did." He took her by the shoulders and lifted her up away from him so they were facing each other again. "Leia."

"Han."

"I didn't prepare a fancy speech or anything."

"Good."

"Can we get married?"

For some reason she loved that he hadn't said "will you marry me". It felt more right this way, like they were on equal footing. "Yes," she said.

He grinned, and then he kissed her. And then the kissing started to edge toward something she thought they should probably not be starting if they expected Luke at any moment, but she didn't stop it. She didn't think she had it in her to try.

Han stopped it, before it went too far, and they were just grinning at each other, his hand framing one side of her face, when the door opened and Luke came in.

"Oh! - sorry," he said immediately, half covering his eyes. He was dragging a sleeping pallet in one hand. "You know, I really can go somewhere else -"

"No, it's all right," Han said, getting up and going to take the pallet from him. "You should be with us in case you need help."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Leia replied. "We're just - we're happy." She glanced at Han, who was smiling, so she added, "We're getting married."

"What?" Somehow Luke seemed actually surprised, despite whatever he'd read from her earlier. "That's - that's incredible! When?"

"We didn't get that far," Han said. "Talking her into it was enough for now."

Luke suddenly pulled Han into a tight embrace and said, "We'll be brothers!"

Han sounded a little bit choked up when he said, "Yeah, we will." Either that, or Luke was actually choking him a little.

Leia was smiling too, as she helped Han spread Luke's sleeping pallet on the floor. So, all right, maybe most people didn't spend the night of their engagement - 

_Engagement_. She hadn't actually thought that word before.

\- with a family sleepover, but since that was far from being the strangest thing about this family, she supposed they could all let it go. 

Luke had a spasm of pain just as he was sitting down, and Leia and Han flanked him for a while, watching him breathe it through, unlacing his boots for him while he trembled through the last aftershocks. That time, something underneath Leia's skin prickled as if she were manifesting his trauma in her own body. Maybe she was. But it ended more quickly than the first time, and soon enough Luke was stretched out on his pallet unconscious with exhaustion.

Fireworks were still visible in the sky through their little window, as Leia lay down wrapped in Han's arms on their own pallet. She watched them, and thought _now I know what's next_.


	38. milestones along the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The forest moon of Endor is surprisingly romantic, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skip the end if you'd rather not read the more explicit stuff.

**Part 38: the forest moon of Endor**

_Han_

 

When Han woke up, Luke was snoring very softly on his pallet across the hut. The sun was almost up, light shifting and flickering as the leaves blew in the wind. Leia was curled still against his side, but when he stirred he felt her fingertip stroking his arm.

He rolled his head to look down at her, and she pressed her forehead against his arm. "Have you changed your mind?" she whispered.

"No," he said, smiling. He crooked his finger under her chin and tipped her face up to him. "You?"

"No." She buried her tremulous smile in his arm again, and this time he let her burrow in. He liked it anyway, the way it sometimes seemed like she couldn't get close enough.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" he whispered.

"Now?" she hissed back, her brow furrowing.

He shook his head and rolled onto his side, facing her more fully. "To get married. You know, have you thought about it? Somewhere special?"

Leia propped herself up on her elbow and looked over at Luke. Apparently satisfied that they weren't waking him, she asked, "Do you want to get married on Corellia?"

The thought hadn't even occurred to him. He shook his head again. "After, maybe. I'd like to go there, married." He hadn't known he wanted that until this moment, but he really did. To see the place again, no longer an orphan on his own, but with his family. But he had no need to have his wedding there.

Leia nodded as if she were taking that very seriously. "Well, where else?" she whispered. "All the places that might be special to us are . . ."

Hoth. Tatooine. Cloud City? "Terrible," he finished for her.

Her nose wrinkled. "Yavin IV?"

"We did - yeah, no, we didn't meet there. But it was the first . . . world we were on together?" He was starting to see her point. "What about someplace that's just - nice?"

She shrugged, then, with another look at Luke, untangled herself from their blanket and nodded toward the hut door. Not waiting for him to follow, she padded out on silent bare feet.

The morning felt chilly. With another quick check on Luke - still fast asleep - Han pulled his shirt on before following her out.

She was sitting on the little balcony, one foot dangling over the edge, the other knee bent up. Tendrils of her hair messily surrounded her pale morning face. She hadn't put anything on over her thin Ewok-provided shift, and goosebumps were standing out on her arms.

He sat down and wrapped his arms around her from behind, feeling her shiver and settle into him. 

"I don't want you to think," she said very slowly, still keeping her voice low, "that I don't care about marrying you. Or that it doesn't matter to me? But . . . the place really doesn't matter. Most of it doesn't matter."

"You never pictured your wedding when you were a little girl? I thought all girls did," he said, teasing; and realization caught up with him seconds too late. 

"I did," she said evenly, on an exhale, and he could have kicked himself.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was stupid."

"It's true." She leaned into him. "Not that you're stupid. But that - anything I ever envisioned for my wedding, whatever I thought it would be like . . ."

He knew her so well by now. He knew that she hadn't finished, not because she was too emotional to speak, but because she didn't want to sound melodramatic. And there was really no other way to say _everything is gone_ than with some melodrama.

So he asked, tipping his forehead against the crown of her head. "What would it have been like? What are Alderaanian weddings like?"

"Mine would have been fairly public," she said. "Not the ceremony itself, but there would have been a public procession." She covered his hands with hers. "The ceremony would have been at the palace temple. It's not long actually. You . . . well. That's one thing we couldn't - I don't have anyone to vouch for me."

"Huh?"

"I'm not sure how the tradition got started. But someone - it's usually your parents, because it's supposed to be someone who's known you since you were a child - vouches that you are who you say you are, that it's legal for you to be married. That your family stands behind the marriage."

He thought for a while. "General Rieekan's known you since you were a child, hasn't he?"

"I suppose he has." She laughed quietly. "In most situations, having a twin brother would be an obvious solution to the problem; but seeing as I met my twin brother the same day I met the groom . . ."

He grinned as he kissed her hair. Then, although he meant not to ask, the question spilled out. " _Would_ your family have stood behind the marriage?"

She really thought about it, which he adored. "Yes," she said after a while. "If they'd seen us become a couple a year ago, they'd have worried, I think. Just that you wouldn't stick around. But now - yes, they would. They would."

"They wouldn't have wanted a prince? Or a politician?"

"They might have expected - it was _likely_ I'd marry someone like that, because those were the people I knew. But they wanted me to choose - to have a love match I mean, not a political marriage. Theirs was a love match." Her face turned into his shoulder. "Once they saw I couldn't possibly be with anyone else. They'd have approved."

"I love you," he said helplessly.

"I know," she said. "They would have known, too."

He held her for a while, watching the tops of the trees rustle. Technically maybe there was no reason to push all this now, except - later today she'd shuttle up to the flagship for a meeting on _what happens next_. And then, seeing as he was now an officer and all, he might get sent out anywhere, chasing the remnants of the Emperor's stranglehold on the galaxy. Right now, she was sitting quietly in his arms watching the trees. Another chance like this might be a long way off.

"Tell me what does matter," he said.

Leia drew her knee up further and rested her chin on it. "Luke and Chewie. General Rieekan. Mon."

"All right."

He heard the rush of her thoughtful exhale. "I guess - I guess I would like it to be an Alderaanian priest. Even if it can't be at the temple. Does that matter to you?"

"Nope. Corellians usually go in for handfasting. Don't even need someone to perform it for you." He intertwined his fingers with hers, thinking about it. "Isn't there an Alderaanian chaplain in the Alliance?"

"Yes, there is. I wonder where he is now . . ."

"What else?" he asked. "White dress?"

She gave a little sigh of frustration, which made him laugh. "I suppose," she said. "It would have been the last time I wore it ceremonially. I suppose it would be a way to - to respect my mother, sort of. It's what she did. I think I've lost weight since I went to Onderon."

It took him a moment to follow the apparent non sequitur. "You have," he said, running his hands over her upper arms. "Were you training while I was gone?"

"Yes," she said. "I felt - I know it doesn't make any sense, because I could train forever and never be as strong as a Wookiee, and Chewie was there too and he never would have let them take you if there was anything he could do about it, and if he couldn't do anything then I definitely couldn't no matter what, but - I just didn't want to feel _helpless_ anymore. I had to watch them take you, and - and I wanted to feel like I could do something."

All of that spilled out of her so fast that it must have been waiting a long time to be said. Maybe all of seven months. He hugged her closer and said, "You've never been helpless." And chose not to mention that maybe - just maybe - there _was_ a way in which Leia could be stronger than Chewie, stronger than any of them except maybe Luke. It wouldn't have helped on Cloud City, as she didn't know anything about her Force ability then, so why bring it up.

"I wonder how indecent that dress would be," Leia said after a few breaths of quiet.

"Judging by my memory," he said, "very." Not that he was opposed to that on principle -

\- and now that Luke had survived the night and all, they really needed to find some time to be alone - 

\- but he had a feeling "indecent" wasn't what she'd want for her wedding ceremony, in front of her brother and their friends.

"We fixed it once," she said. "I wonder." Her body rocked against him as she swung her leg over the edge of the platform. "It's nice here."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"I mean - here could be nice."

He shifted her away from him a little so that he could see her face. "You mean - just - just, here?"

"Who knows where we'll be going after this," she said, echoing his own earlier thoughts. 

"You're sure?" he said. "You don't want more time?"

A shiver went through her and a shadow passed over her face. Before he could ask what was wrong, she said, "I thought about it yesterday all I'm going to need to. Do _you_ need more time?"

"Hey, I started thinking about marrying you before yesterday," he said. "I kind of sprung it on you, though."

She shrugged. "I was surprised yesterday. But . . ." She shivered again, and turned to look out into the trees. "Everything is - it's going to be . . ."

He rubbed her back and waited.

"I like having something settled." Her head snapped back to look at him. "We're not going to be perfect at this."

No, they weren't. They were both on their best behavior now, because they were happy to be alive and she was still reeling from Luke's news besides - shocked, sad, vulnerable; and it was making her clingy. For that matter, things hadn't been normal between them since . . . ever. On the way to Bespin they'd been tentative, dreading being separated. After Tatooine had been a honeymoon period of relief and happiness, and that had barely started to even out before all this. They'd never just been a normal couple. 

But he could keep trying, the way he was trying now. They both could.

"You're meeting with command later?" he confirmed.

She nodded.

"Okay." He gave a firm nod in return. "I don't have any instructions yet, so I was just going to check on the _Falcon_. Let me look into some things. You - hit your quarters on _Home One_ and try that dress on."

"Are we crazy?" she asked.

"Probably. But not for this."

She grinned.

His mind was racing as he walked through the woods toward the _Falcon_ later that morning, mulling on details (should there be some kind of a party, even a little one? did it matter that there was literally no one in the galaxy who'd known him since he was a child? did they need some kind of a license?) and also on Leia's last question. _Was_ it crazy? Han Solo, poster boy for lack of commitment?

But no, that was being unfair to himself. He was very committed to the things he thought were important; it was just that that was a short list. And Leia had been on it for a long time.

Of course, having a _wife_ was different from anything else. He'd be responsible in a way he wasn't for Chewie - not because Leia couldn't take care of herself, but because he'd be responsible for making her happy, wouldn't he? Still. He'd never really been bad at anything he tried, and he was pretty sure he could be a not-terrible husband. To her, anyway. As good as they'd always been at arguing, they seemed to be even better at soothing each other down, when they wanted to. Even now he could picture how good it felt, to have Leia just touch his hands or his arms and he'd feel calmer and -

He stopped walking abruptly, staring at a tree.

_Really?_

Not on purpose, obviously, but . . .

Yeah. In retrospect. Yeah.

So when was he going to break it to her that she'd been doing _that_?

 

_Leia_

 

The Emperor and his most feared enforcer were both dead. The Imperial fleet was scattered, and intelligence had half of them surrendering to whatever Alliance representatives they could find, or just plain ditching their ships and going AWOL. It wasn't _over_ yet, but . . . it was over. 

It should have been incredibly exciting. It _was_ incredibly exciting - and scary - to think that now they could start the work Leia and Mon Mothma and others had been preparing for this whole time. Leia's whole life, even. The work of figuring out what a better democracy, one that wouldn't repeat the Republic's dying mistakes, would look like.

And Leia was trying very hard to concentrate on all of that, and not just keep thinking about the fact that she and Han had agreed to get married basically . . . now, and that she was terrified and thrilled and didn't really know what to do with herself.

Fortunately, terrified, thrilled, and not really knowing what to do with themselves actually described most of high command pretty well on this day. The Mon Cal wanted to chase down the Imperials and were so eager that their own admirals could barely contain them. A group that included most of the former politicians and defected Imperials really wanted to liberate Coruscant, despite rumors that it was already doing a fairly excellent job of liberating itself. The Alderaanians mostly wanted to pray, or rather, to start planning formal services of remembrance for those lost over the years of the conflict.

In all that, no one noticed that Leia barely knew what room she was in half the time.

They broke for the day, many decisions still mostly unmade, about an hour before dinner hour on the flagship. Leia intended to go back down to the moon, but since she needed to make a stop at her quarters she found herself trailing Mon Mothma through the corridors.

_Might as well get a start_ , she thought, and after calling the older woman's name, casually shared, "So, Han and I are getting married. Probably soon."

That had come out a little bit wrong. Mon's eyes fluttered down toward Leia's abdomen; but Leia wasn't offended - almost anyone would have had the same thought.

"No no no," she said quickly. "Not - for any particular reason. We just thought, we don't really know what might happen next, and everyone we care about is here now, so . . ."

"Well." Mon's face broke into a smile. "I expect you won't be the last. Congratulations."

So there was one Alliance leader anyway, who didn't seem to think Leia was insane. Good sign.

"I'd like you to be there," Leia continued.

Mon Mothma took her hands. "I'd be honored."

"Han's - well, he said he was looking into logistics. We didn't get very far in planning, but you might be hearing from him."

"Happy to help," Mon said, before she was swept off by an aide and Leia made her way to her quarters alone.

The dress she'd worn to Onderon was . . . well, quite aside from the fact that it might expose half her chest, it was very ceremonial. Silky, drapey. Appropriate for a reception in a king's court. Less so for a Rebel wedding in the forest attended by three people and a Wookiee. And depending on the time of day it might be rather warm with the necessary underlayer.

She frowned for a while at the underlayer she'd used last time, which was basically another white dress she'd found from somewhere, of the type someone (who was not an Alderaanian royal) would wear at a sea resort. It wasn't immodest except by Alderaan's standards - there were only straps instead of sleeves, and it was probably meant to be knee-length, which made it mid-calf-length on Leia. But the neckline was high enough, and it had some sort of pretty crocheting around the hem.

Leia quickly stripped off her Alliance camouflage and pulled the dress on, scrutinizing herself in the small mirror. It was _not_ appropriate for a king's court, but for a Rebel wedding in the forest attended by three people and a Wookiee . . .

It was a start.

Before redressing she paused, realizing an opportunity. They were officially encamped on the moon now, not slipping in as a commando force. She could take back something a little more . . . well, not fancy, not for the middle of the forest, but she did have some slightly more attractive underthings at least. And come to think of it, while she was here in her quarters she had access to a water shower.

Best to be prepared, and all that.

She was in fact so prepared that she blushed as soon as she saw Han, back on the moon, but he didn't seem to notice. "How's the _Falcon_?" she asked.

"Pretty much how Lando said - not too bad. I fixed a lot of it today." He drew her close to his side and kissed the top of her head.

"So Lando gets to live?"

"Another day at least. I thought maybe we might move there for tonight? The treehouse is pretty and all, but it'll be quieter, a little more private."

A little shock of nerves went through her. She nodded. "Yes, that sounds like a good idea."

"Good," he said, smiling, "because I moved our stuff over there. Are you - are you going back up for more meetings, or anything, tonight?"

"No," she said. "No, I'm free till tomorrow."

"Come and see, then?"

She swallowed, speechless, and took his hand and let him lead her through the forest.

The sight of the _Falcon_ itself was a distraction from her nerves. She knew it well enough by now that she could spot the new scorching and the fact that part of the sensor array seemed to be missing. "Can you get a new dish brought here?" she asked.

"Lando's already got one on the way. Guilty conscience and all."

"Still, the damage really doesn't look too bad."

"No, she got lucky," Han said. "Like the rest of us. Come on in, you must be starving."

She sort of was, though it was all mingling together with the anticipation in her stomach. But the hunger made itself known when she caught sight of the plates set out in the lounge, and smelled . . . she didn't know what, but it didn't smell like half-raw forest meat. "Did you cook?" she asked.

"Yeah, you didn't seem too fond of the Ewok stew. And it turned out that 'trooper installation we raided had real bread, so I commandeered some."

" _Actual_ bread?" All right, now she was definitely hungry.

"Yeah, not even instant." He guided her to the bench. "So I thought we'd celebrate a little, 'cause - turns out that chaplain can be here day after tomorrow."

Leia took a second to process that as she sat down. "Really?"

"Really. You still in?"

"Yes," she said immediately. "We'll have to tell everyone."

"I'm taking care of it," he said. "Rieekan's helping."

"Really?" Eventually she was going to get tired of saying that.

"Yep." He handed her a tumbler full of - yes, Yavin wine and said, "You plan the new Republic, I'll plan an Alderaanian wedding in miniature. Teamwork."

"Teamwork," she agreed, gently touching her glass to his.

By the time they were clearing the table she was ready to take the bantha by the horns. Not leaving anything to chance anymore. The only problem was - she really didn't know how to do that.

Well. The expression "take the bantha by the horns" had put a regrettable and very specific image in her mind, but she wasn't sure she wanted to go right for that.

Instead - about to begin grinding her teeth from the tension that seemed to have ramped up every minute through dinner - while he was drying plates she put her hand on his lower back. Then, when he grinned down at her, she took a very deep breath, took the plate out of his hands, and set it on the counter.

(Fortunately) he didn't need to be told twice. He bent to kiss her and pulled her close at the same time, dropping his dishtowel on top of the discarded plate. It became amply clear that yes, they both agreed that this was the moment, as his arm wrapped around her back and held her hips tightly against his. She could feel his want, and even better could hear his labored breathing which seemed to match her heartbeat. 

He broke the kiss with a gasp, looked around, and she thought he was thinking about picking her up. She wasn't sure she could handle quite that much of a holo scene, so she slid her arm around his waist and guided him in the direction of the cabin. Han looked a little dazed, actually, but he slung an arm around her shoulders and went along.

The cabin door closed behind them; he was kissing her neck and starting to tug her shirt out of the waistband of her pants, when suddenly he stopped, backed up to look at her, and said, "Do you want to wait?"

Leia just barely managed to say, "No. For what?" instead of _oh, what now?_

He looked a bit sheepish as he framed her face with his hands. "For - the day after tomorrow."

She was so nonplussed that it actually took her a while to realize he was asking if she wanted to wait for the wedding. "No. Why?"

He shrugged. "Just checking."

She lifted her chin. "I'd rather know what I'm getting into, actually." It was mostly a joke, but also . . . yeah. Not that she was really nervous about getting married, but she'd be a lot less nervous if she wasn't also going into this total unknown. Though just to be sure - "Do _you_ want to wait?"

"Not at all," he said.

"Good. All right."

He smiled. She thought the mood had been maybe kind of broken, but then he swept in and kissed her again and no, there it was. Still present, much like his hands on her skin under her shirt.

Now would be a really good time to have some more information than what she got from bad romance holos. Then maybe she could do something other than just mirror him, do whatever he was doing.

_Do_ not _overthink this_ , she begged herself as she untucked his shirt from his pants. _This is good, he feels good, just let it be . . . good._

_Seriously._

As he was pushing her unbuttoned shirt off her shoulders and she was starting to get nervous about what he was thinking, whether she looked good enough or whatever it was men thought about . . . she brushed her hand against the front of his pants and, when he gasped, remembered that at least she did know what she was doing there. Undoing his pants let her not think about him taking her bra off - she just moved her arms and traded off hands as needed, reaching and stroking as he'd shown her - at least until he groaned and then immediately closed his mouth hard around her nipple. Then she cried out, not in pain nor exactly in pleasure but mostly surprise?, and probably squeezed a little too hard, and he groaned again and his tongue moved on her and she was maybe starting to get the feel for this. This feedback loop in which everything she did to him seemed amplified back to her, and it all fed into the growing tension between her legs, so that when she realized he was pushing her pants off her hips she was at least almost as excited and relieved as she was nervous.

"Stop," he said then, sounding strangled; and by reflex she let go of him as if he had burned her. Understanding dawned a bit more slowly, and she tried to make up for the abrupt gesture by rubbing her hands up his belly as she started to unbutton his shirt. He got out of his pants while she was doing that; she stepped out of her pants on the floor while tossing his shirt aside; and then she sat back on the bed expecting things to happen pretty much right now, given the escalating urgency.

He crawled over her, naked - and it _was_ the first time she'd seen him entirely naked, and she spent some time reminding herself to look and enjoy looking - but he rested on his side beside her instead of getting on top. She reached for him and he pulled her into a kiss, still laying on their sides. While she was wondering if she should take the initiative, he worked her underwear down and she thought again _now_ and helped to get them off before laying back down. But he went back to kissing her, one hand just caressing over her body, her stomach, her breasts, her side, and finally nudging her thighs apart. When his fingertips finally touched her, she made a noise that she didn't recognize and promptly pulled him into a deep kiss to shut herself up. 

He was moving so slowly, just exploring everywhere, cupping and stroking and rubbing until she was rocking her hips into his hand - which was a thing she just couldn't care about, along with the fact that he clearly did not need to be told what to do. When he slipped a finger all the way inside her, he pulled away from the kiss to look at what he was doing, and she buried her face in his shoulder and gripped his back as if that would pull him closer, deeper. Because - he had big hands, long fingers, and it was different but it was _good_. And very slow. Very slow, and good, even when it felt like he'd added another finger.

She ran her hands over him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to his throat that grew more and more needy as he kept touching her; anything to feel connected to him; and finally she wrapped her hand around his erection again.

"Not yet," he said, breathing heavily and kissing the top of her head. His fingers were scissoring - stretching, she realized with a quick little shot of mortification. "Too much."

She rolled to her back and pulled him, tugged him over top of her. "So come here," she said with all of her bravery.

"I want you to be ready."

If "ready" meant "about to die from both nerves and frustration," she was ready. "I must be," she said, running her hands down from his lower back over his buttocks. "I don't want - you don't have to wait."

"Slow," he said, and she nodded.

He did something else with his fingers and then she felt the head of him at her entrance and she tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling to absorb the sensation. There was a stretching at first, but once he was past the opening that passed and she just felt him everywhere, touching what felt like every smallest inch of her, as he pushed further.

He stopped then, and she knew he was waiting for her so she looked back at him and said, quietly, "Good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

When he started to move she saw stars. Pretty much the only thing she'd ever really read about this situation was that the first time hurt and was terrible. Lies. Of course he'd been careful, but now he was picking up his pace and his hips were thoroughly cradled between her legs and it still wasn't terrible. He looked like he wanted to kiss her breasts maybe, which would have been possible if she were taller, so that was sort of awkward, but he seemed to be enjoying himself anyway. Then he freed a hand and started touching her, not entirely gently, with his thumb and that was so very not terrible that she arched her back against the bed and wrapped one leg behind his back. Definitely lies.

He said something in Corellian through gasps, and she had no idea what it meant but she nodded anyway. The buildup was happening, and she was starting to think _should I try to be done faster, will he be getting bored_ or _should I move different, maybe like this . . ._ so she tried, hard, to shut that all down and just look at Han and feel his body on, and in, hers. 

When she reached that cliff it was overwhelming, and she had to hold tightly to him and hold his hips still against her while the waves passed. Somewhere outside of the rushing in her head she could hear him groaning, the same way he had when he'd first pushed into her; and as soon as she released her hold on him he started to move faster and harder and after not long at all he was holding still again, frozen against her and wracked with tremors with his face bent against her hair. It was fascinating how much she could feel, the involuntary movements of him inside her, the warmth of fluid. She was still sensitive and her hips jerked in response.

He gasped, and she felt the shifting of the air of the room as they both came down, breathing starting to slow, coming back to their surroundings. He was stroking her hair back from her face. She rubbed his back a little, which made him gasp again and jerk against her, so she figured maybe that was too much and just rested her hand on the curve of his lower back. Another slightly strange feeling, the softening inside her and the tingling emptiness as he slid out and fell to his side.

"Good?" he asked her, still panting, still stroking her hair.

She nodded, then asked tentatively, "You?"

He broke into an enormous grin and kissed her forehead. "It's been a long wait," he said, "but this is so worth it."

She flushed, and closed her eyes as he tucked her against him. The voice in her mind was back - what was she supposed to do now? Was she supposed to get up and wash? From the feel of it there was definitely a certain amount of . . . fluid. Or - were they going to sleep? Should she put something on? Did people sleep naked all the time once they were doing this?

His hand slid between her legs and she automatically tensed, even though nothing hurt, and, well. There was no reason he shouldn't, now. But he just held his palm there gently and asked, "You're sure it was all right? I meant to go slower."

She nodded, still pressed into his shoulder. "Perfect," she said, and meant it.

"I love you," he said, his hand rubbing up over her hip.

"I love you, too."

"What's the verdict?"

She looked up at him and frowned.

"Wedding still on?"

Grinning, she said, "Yes."

"Good, that would be an awkward explanation to have to give the chaplain."

She looked at his other hand splayed on the sheet, and she brushed her fingers against his. Yes, her brain was still going a mile a minute, but . . . for now, this was good. She could do this.


	39. next steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things that have been a long time in the making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more epilogue chapter to this story and then our journey will (for some of us!) be complete. A few remaining chapters originally envisioned as part of the story will be posted separately as a little sequel, for those who are interested.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Part 39: at a very small wedding**

 

Part of Han - a small but very real part - expected Leia to have fled in the morning, but she was there, on her side facing away from him, when the _Falcon_ 's programmed lighting started to fade on. She'd eventually put on a shirt of his; he hadn't put anything on. As he rolled close to her, the fabric rubbed tantalizingly at his chest.

He had no real intentions, but his body had very good memories of last night and was fairly interested in repeating the experience. He hoped she didn't take this as any kind of pressure as he curved himself around the backs of her legs.

She was awake; she held his hand against her chest and kissed his fingertips. _We're getting married tomorrow_ , he thought, almost lightheaded with it.

Rieekan had been the one to track down and talk to the chaplain, so Han had no idea how the man felt about being summoned to join his princess in marriage with a smuggler-general. Hopefully he'd at least put on a positive face for Leia's sake.

Han had a feeling that Rieekan himself approved mostly because he liked the idea of there being an arrangement in place for Leia, someone who was committed to making sure she had a place to be and people to be with. Though he surely still would have objected if he'd had a problem with Han. That he didn't was nice.

Han's palm was on Leia's breast and despite the fact that he hadn't really planned to try anything, he found himself rubbing circles with gentle pressure through the shirt she was wearing. The shift in mood was slow but palpable - the change in her breathing, her hips pressed back against him. He moved slowly to be sure, but as he put his hand up under the shirt her only response was an inhale that sounded encouraging.

Their hips moved together in a way that wouldn't be enough for long, but was sweet for now. When the temptation finally became irresistible he pulled the shirt down over her shoulder, so that he could kiss her bare skin as his hand moved its explorations downward between her legs.

The quiet cabin filled with the sound of their breathing seemingly in unison. He stroked her until his fingers were slick and then some, until she put her foot flat on the bunk to raise her bent knee out of his way. That he'd ever worried about being able to get hard seemed almost hilarious now, when he ached as his length slid against her in the space she'd made. 

His hand covered her belly, and she exhaled hard, when he pushed himself inside. It was quiet and slow; her taking a while to figure out how to move with him and not at cross purposes, him trying to remember how small she was and that in this position it would be easy to go too far. And trying not to erupt immediately at the feel of her. Maybe eventually, when it wasn't the first or second time in five years, he'd remember how to last. For now he'd have to be happy with at least bringing her along with him once.

To help him focus he tried to think about what made this so different - how he'd been in love with her for what felt like forever, how much she had trusted him with and was trusting him with now, how nothing else had ever felt like this because this was the rest of his life . . . and how the fact that that felt more like a promise than a prison meant they were right to do this. 

How he, who'd never been especially affectionate about sex (or anything else), felt the need to kiss and stroke her the whole time. How he loved the way his body curled around and sheltered hers.

Like last time, he couldn't withstand the feeling of her pulsing around him - or, this time, the sight of her biting the side of her finger to keep herself quiet. For several moments he thought about nothing, hot whiteness filling his vision, but as he came down he wondered whether she actually knew that making noise was an all right thing to do. Good, even. Heck, for all he knew there was some Alderaanian cultural thing about being quiet during sex (though, probably not). Maybe they'd talk about it once he was sure she wouldn't die of embarrassment. Of course what counted was that she was enjoying herself, but he'd also like to see her in abandon, forgetting to be contained and well-behaved.

This time she gasped when he slipped out, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her to his chest murmuring tender words that were probably total nonsense. They were getting married tomorrow and he loved her and his life now was his ship, his partner, this woman curled in his arms, and her brother, and whatever life they all made together.

So pretty much the same as the last four years, only with hopefully less shooting and more sex.

 

Leia came to him in the afternoon, her face screwed up, and said apologetically, "I didn't think I cared about this, but it turns out I do, and I can't sleep with you tonight."

He had no idea what it was she cared about or didn't, but he flew right over that to the important part. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I mean obviously we don't have to - you don't have to apologize, you never - but . . ." He lowered his voice, coming closer. "Are you sore, or anything?"

She looked confused, then her face relaxed. "No, that's not what I mean," she said. "I mean - well, a little, but it's all right. It's just that on Alderaan you don't see your spouse on the day of the wedding. Until the ceremony."

He thought that through. "So waking up with them in the morning . . ."

"Probably not contemplated by traditionalists in the first place, but - yeah. Discouraged." Her nose and her brow wrinkled up again. "I really didn't think I was superstitious. I'm _not_ superstitious. It's just . . . tradition."

"I get it." He didn't love it, but it was one night. One night before the rest of their lives. "How are we going to manage not to run into each other all day?"

"Luke."

Fair enough. A brother with magical powers running interference would make a lot of seemingly difficult things possible.

"Okay," he said.

"Really?"

"If it's important, it's important."

"It's not important," she said, sounding frustrated with herself. "It's stupid."

"But you feel like you should do it, so we'll do it." He stepped close and kissed her. "Where will you stay? In the hut with Luke?"

"I thought I'd go up to my quarters on _Home One_ actually. Then I can have breakfast there and go to my meeting and it'll be easier for us not to run into each other."

"Sounds fine." Another kiss, and he nuzzled her forehead with his nose. "Come say goodnight before you leave?"

"Of course." Leia took his chin in her hand and looked seriously up at him. "Thank you."

"It's fine."

"Not just this. For everything."

"I'm being practically saintly," he said, grinning.

She looked like she couldn't decide whether to roll her eyes or agree, and settled on kissing him.

 

When Han arrived with General Rieekan to the prearranged little open decking space between two huts the next evening, the usual torches had been supplemented with an array of tiny lights. Little firebugs were drawn to the lights and made the whole thing look as if they were up in the stars, and the stars were moving around them. Above, the canopy rustled with a quiet breeze.

Leia arrived with her brother, an almost shy smile on her face. Her dress was white, but that was the only thing either royal or Alderaanian about it. He'd rarely seen so much of her bare arms and shoulders except when they were naked together. For her part, she was standing with her shoulders back as if she needed to remind herself not to cover up, but she looked lovely. Her hair, which was left mostly loose, almost covered her anyway. 

A little woven wreath of tiny white flowers crowned her. As she stood next to him, he whispered, "I like the flowers."

"Luke made it," she whispered back. He didn't doubt that for a moment.

He didn't reach for her, having been instructed on the protocol.

The chaplain, who seemed to be a friendly sort of guy, smiled at all of them and raised his hands in a gesture that Rieekan apparently understood. Stepping out, so that he formed a side point in a circle composed of himself, Han and Leia, and the chaplain, the general cleared his throat and said, "As someone who has known her from childhood, I vouchsafe to this gathering Leia Organa; and standing in respect of the houses of Organa and Antilles I acknowledge that she is eligible to be married and I stand in support of her marriage."

The chaplain nodded soberly, although he looked as if he wanted to smile.

Mon Mothma formed the last point in their circle, across from Rieekan. Han watched Leia's face as it dawned on her what was happening. "I am the leader of the Alliance to Restore the Republic," Mon said, "and a former member of the Galactic Senate, with access to government and vital statistics records of Alliance member worlds. In that capacity, I vouchsafe to this gathering Han Solo; and standing in respect of an unknown clan and the people of Corellia I acknowledge that he is eligible to be married and I stand in support of his marriage."

Leia was delighted to the point of almost laughing. Han was personally pretty proud of this solution he'd found to the problem of his checkered past and not entirely certain origins. Apparently even he existed in records.

"Your families speak in support of this marriage," the chaplain said. "Do you also agree to be joined in the presence of the Being and of all life in the galaxy, to share that life with each other for the benefit of each other and of your worlds?"

Han hesitated for half a second, suddenly realizing he should have asked what he was supposed to say. It was enough time for him to hear Leia's "yes," and he repeated it, grateful it was that simple.

"Then let us acknowledge with our silent prayer that we are in the Being's presence."

Everyone else bowed their heads, so Han did, too. _Well,_ he thought, finding himself automatically talking in his mind to the Being he had never believed in, _I'm not sure what I'm doing here, but, you know. Leia believes, I think. Whether she does or not - look, on the off-chance someone is listening, could you give us a hand? Help this work out, for her?_

_She definitely deserves for something to be easy._

The chaplain started to pray aloud then in a language that had to be Old High Alderaanian or something. Han kept his head respectfully semi-bowed and just hoped he wasn't inadvertently promising to do anything really strange. He'd have to ask Leia for a translation later.

There were some expansive hand gestures from the chaplain, and more praying (Mon Mothma had to be as lost as Han, but she maintained the same calm serenity throughout - of course, she wasn't the one getting married in a language she didn't speak). Finally, the chaplain returned to Basic.

"Having invoked the blessings of the Being," he said, "Leia, do you undertake to enter into marriage, to live in fidelity, and to carry out your responsibilities as well as you are able?"

Fortunately, she again responded with a simple "yes."

"Han," the chaplain said, "do _you_ undertake to enter into marriage, to live in fidelity, and to carry out your responsibilities as well as you are able?"

_Well, that about sums it up_. "Yes," Han agreed.

"Then you are married in the eyes of the Being and according to the . . . traditions of Alderaan."

The hesitation was small, but Han caught it anyway. Something to file away for later, because the chaplain was smiling at them over his book and they seemed to be finished with this part.

Han nodded at the man, discarded the idea of thanking him, and reached into his pocket for the cord he had stashed there. Leia had supplied it - it had been the lacing of one of her more ornate ceremonial dresses. As the chaplain closed his book, remaining in his place, Han held up his left hand with a meaningful look at Leia.

She turned to face him and put up her own left hand, palm against his. Chewie, who had been standing silently behind Han throughout the Alderaanian portion of the ceremony, took the cord from Han and began to wind it around his and Leia's hands. When half the cord remained, Luke took over from Leia's side and wrapped the cord the rest of the way, tucking the end securely into the binding.

"There aren't any particular words," Han said. He'd felt calm throughout the first part, but now he was a little wobbly - as if his body understood that he was about to be married according to his own culture, and that somehow counted for extra. "The cord is a symbol, that we're bound together, and I'm supposed to promise in my own words that I'll abide by that and that we'll, ah, honor our clans." He cleared his throat, trying for more control over his voice. "So. I promise. That we'll be a family, you and me. That I'll love you. And I hope that's enough as far as our clans go."

Leia's eyes were looking a little watery. She glanced around at the witnesses before she spoke. "Am I also supposed to . . ."

"Yeah," Han replied. "You - if you want."

"You could have warned me," she whispered.

"You'd have spent all day thinking of something fancy. It's not really like that."

"Right." She gave him a look that suggested they'd be revisiting this topic - possibly every year on their anniversary - and took a deep breath. "I, um. I also promise that we will be bound together . . . us and our clans. Families." Her darting eyes found Luke and Chewie hovering over their shoulders. "I'm happy. That we'll be a family. And I will love you, too." She exhaled hard, and smiled.

_That's it_. Done. Han breathed a sigh of relief he didn't even really understand. "Then," he said, "our, uh - well, our clan heads would loosen the binding, and our family representatives retie it just around our wrists, and it stays there for the rest of the night." He'd actually forgotten to discuss this part with anyone, but as smoothly as if they had discussed it Rieekan and Mon Mothma came forward and started to unwrap the cord. When it was mostly loose, Luke and Chewie took over tying his wrist to Leia's with spacer's knots.

"Congratulations," the chaplain said, breaking the solemn mood. The others echoed him, clapping quietly.

As if on cue Han and Leia wrapped their free arms around each other, Leia's head tucked into Han's chest and his cheek against her hair. He hugged her tightly for a long moment before bending down to kiss her. And just like that, they were married.

Thanks to more assistance from Luke and Rieekan, the hut where Han and Leia had stayed, which was now Luke's, had been temporarily turned into a dining room with a table (under the cloth it was probably stacked crates) laid with food mostly shuttled down from the mess on _Home One_ , though it had been supplemented with fresh vegetables liberated from the stormtrooper garrison. And thanks to Mon Mothma, the wine was something sweet from Chandrila that Leia would probably like a lot better than Yavin wine.

"We're lucky neither of us is left-handed," Leia murmured as they sat down facing each other among their small band of guests, their bound hands on top of the table.

"We'd have used the other hand if we were," Han said. "It's a practical tradition."

"Ah."

"Also we're supposed to help each other."

"Hmm?"

"Like to cut meat, or whatever."

Leia gave her plate, and the lack of meat that required cutting, an exaggerated look. Then she jabbed her fork into a large, crisp spear of roasted esbarg and said, "Want to help me cut this?"

"For the sake of tradition," he said, grinning, and hacked the vegetable in two with his knife. "Speaking of which . . ."

Leia raised her eyebrows as she bit into the esbarg.

"It sounded like the chaplain kind of hesitated. Something about the traditions of Alderaan?"

She frowned as she tried to remember. "Oh. Yes. He changed it on the spur of the moment, I guess. The order of ceremony says 'according to the laws of Alderaan,' but - I guess he realized that doesn't exactly make sense. I mean, we can keep the traditions but the laws don't apply anywhere anymore."

Right. Alderaanians couldn't even get married without being reminded that their world no longer existed. "We're married under some law, though, right?"

"Interesting question," Leia said. "Technically, the chaplain's signature makes us married under the laws of the Empire. Which - also may not apply anymore? But it's not like the marriages of everyone in the galaxy who got married under the Empire will suddenly become invalid, so . . . yes. Probably."

"Probably?"

She gave him a conspiratorial smile. "I say that's the story we stick to, anyway."

"Deal."

Rieekan and Mon Mothma were taking the chaplain back up to the flagship with them, so the party broke up thankfully without awkwardness. Han hadn't been to a lot of weddings, but he could easily picture a kind of winking knowingness that would have made all of them uncomfortable. Instead they were left with just Luke and Chewie hugging and congratulating them before going off to share the extra wine with the pilots; and then Han and Leia were on their own to walk back to the _Falcon_.

Han realized he was as grateful as Leia must be that this wasn't going to be the first time they had sex - the wedding had been poignant and sweet and he'd been a little nervous and very aware of the import of what was happening, without also having to be worried about _that_. Not that it was old hat by now - being the third time and all - but third was still plenty different from first.

And - yeah, all right, he was still a little bit weirdly nervous. Maybe because it felt like it mattered in a different way, now that they were married? His mouth was dry as he closed up the _Falcon_ and let Leia lead him back to the cabin. Their cabin.

She stood in the middle of the room in dimmed light and silently held up her wrist next to his as he untied the cord and handed it to her. Then she asked, quietly, "Am I supposed to do something with it?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing her sides with both hands now that both were free. "It's actually supposed to go under the pillow."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

She went to the bunk and tucked the cord under the pillows. "Does that have a special meaning?"

"No, it's just luck, or - something. After tonight we're just supposed to keep it someplace. I think some people put it over the bedposts."

"Bedposts?"

"Beds on Corellia tend to have canopies. It's because the houses are cold."

"Oh," said Leia softly.

He stroked her hair back, pushing it behind her shoulders, and meant to kiss her but instead got down onto his knees and leaned his forehead against her belly. Her hands stroked through his hair.

"All right?" she asked.

He nodded, and started to lift the hem of her dress. He moved slowly but once he'd lifted it to the level of her waist, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to the joining of her thighs. Encouraged by her gasp, he held her hips steady and explored as well as he could through the fabric of her underwear, until her grip on his head became almost painful. He paused only to lift her dress higher and kiss the bare skin of her stomach, but she stepped back from him then and broke the contact.

When he looked up, she was lifting the flowers from her hair and setting them aside, then making as if to take the dress off over her head. He helped for the sake of being the one to expose her breasts to his gaze - she wasn't wearing anything else underneath, which he was glad he hadn't known until now; the dress had been tight enough to hold her in. They kissed feverishly once the fabric was out of the way, him clutching onto her while she unbuttoned his shirt, unfastened his pants, tried to catch him up as quickly as possible.

He sat down on the bunk after helping her shuck off the rest of his clothes, liking the picture she presented when she was higher up than he was for once. He watched her look him up and down, watched her shed her underwear as if the garment had offended her, and then held his arms out to her and said, "Slowly." This way could be great, but it could also be a lot for her frame.

She nodded and came to kneel over his lap, still small enough that they both had to do some adjusting to get him lined up. It did feel a bit like he'd ignored the rest of her body, so while she was taking a moment to rub against him he bent to kiss her breasts and then rubbed his thumbs gently over the softness of her nipples. An intake of breath from her, and then he threw his head back, eyes closed, to enjoy the feel of her sinking down onto him. He wanted to caution her, but all that came out was a deep and utterly satisfied groan, so he held her hips instead and tried to help her control the motion.

She kissed his throat; he moaned and fought the urge to push up harder into her; she held him close, her breasts moving against his chest, and asked, "Good, like this?"

"Not too far," he finally managed to choke out, still holding her by the hips, probably leaving marks by this point. "Stop if it - if it hurts . . ."

"It's fine," she said; and he decided it needed to be a lot better than fine so he let her take charge, and let his hands roam over her body instead. He was learning her places, learning how she liked to be touched while he was inside her, what would finish her off. His first victory was fast - what felt like only moments and she was throbbing, squeezing him, making tiny sounds against his neck as she came. His second victory was outlasting this and getting to try for a second time, obeying her silent request to stop touching her sensitive spot but continuing to rock into her, until her breathing evened out and then quickened again, until he could tell by the desperation in her movements that she was ramping up, that she was moving not just for the sake of his pleasure but feeling her own start to build.

Now he let himself go - hands tangling in her hair, murmuring her name against her slightly sweaty temple, thrusting upward wantonly and trusting her to keep him from hurting her. It seemed to work; she cried out against his shoulder in definite pleasure rather than pain, clutching tightly to him, and she shook against him in her own climax just before he reached his.

_She_ bit _me_ , was his first dazed, delirious, sex-addled thought as he was catching his breath. Not hard enough to leave a lasting mark, but her teeth had definitely left a reddening spot on his shoulder. She seemed as overwhelmed as he was in the aftermath, sagging against him, still holding him tightly with her arms as well as still holding him inside her. He grinned and kissed her temple, her forehead, her lips, hugging her close until he couldn't stand the sensation anymore and he had to twist them and lower her to the bunk and slip out.

He was still trying to breathe as he landed beside her. "That's," he gasped, "about as good as it gets. I mean. People should have goals. But really."

She laughed, burying her face against his shoulder.

He pulled the sheet up over their sweaty bodies just as she started to shiver. "Are you glad you married me?" he asked, a bit playfully, a bit not.

"Yes," she said. 

"Well, good." He tried to stroke her hair back - she was going to have to get up and comb it out and braid it; it was ridiculously tangled at the ends. "It didn't . . ." He didn't want to wear the point out, but there really was such a difference in their heights. "It didn't hurt, like that?"

"For a second," she said. She was blushing. He loved that she was still blushing, but he loved even more that she was fighting through it to have the talk. "I backed off a little. It was still all right?"

"Sweetheart."

"I mean, it was enough . . ."

"Unless you're _trying_ to kill me, don't worry about anything being enough." He kissed her forehead. "Any other Alderaanian wedding traditions I should know about?"

"No." She pushed herself up on one elbow. "It doesn't matter, does it, that we - you know. We weren't exactly laying on the pillow."

He was baffled until he remembered the cord, then he burst out laughing. "No, sweetheart. I'd say we've got our luck covered."

"Just checking." She settled back down, pressing close, pulling the sheet up higher. "Is that it for Corellian weddings?"

"That's it. We're thoroughly married." His eyelids were starting to droop now that all the nerves and the energy of the day were fading. "Whether it turns out to be legal or not."

He heard her quiet laugh before she whispered, "I love you." 

He was pretty sure he'd managed to mumble something like "that's good" before drifting off completely.


	40. epilogue

**Epilogue**

 

Having a husband was something Leia was still wrapping her mind around.

For the first few weeks she was caught in a constant cycle of sudden hits of panic - simultaneously, panic that she'd made a horrible mistake, and panic that he'd leave. None of which made any sense. For one thing those two things definitely didn't make sense in combination. But also, Han had given her no reason to fear either of them. He was a good husband, as far as she could tell with her complete lack of experience in the matter. And he showed no signs of thinking about leaving.

The (slightly too on-the-nose term notwithstanding) honeymoon period they'd been in since the trip to Bespin seemed to be holding up. It really might be true that, having admitted and acted on their feelings for each other, they really had nothing left to fight about. Well - nothing that had come up so far. She was sure there would be something, someday, eventually. 

But for now . . . he was nice. Sweet. As he always had been when they were between fights. He was thoughtful, remembering what she liked and didn't like and planning for what she might need. He liked to touch her, just casually throughout the day. He liked to lie close at night and breathe her in.

The first - and so far only - time she lay beneath him when she didn't really want to, and forced herself to go through the motions . . . two things happened. One was that his whispers of love and his tender stroking of her face and her hair ended up seducing her after the fact, so that by the end she wasn't faking anymore. But the other, more important, was that somewhere in the middle she just realized that he wouldn't want this if he knew. That she could have - _should_ have - just said she wasn't in the mood and it would have been all right. She hadn't realized until then that she trusted him that way.

Also, now that he had such intimate knowledge of her body he seemed to think her cycle was pretty thoroughly his business. She hadn't expected that. But where her instinct was to conceal as much as possible unless or until she needed to give him a blushing explanation for her lack of availability, he seemed to view the whole thing no differently from repairs to the ship or food inventory or anything else they handled together. She winced with cramps; he was there, rubbing her lower back and her abdomen. He made her tea and told her to go ahead and lie down because he and Chewie had been handling kitchen duties without her for years and they could do so again now. It was . . . strange. But nice.

Which described the whole issue of having a husband, really. Strange. But nice.

For his part . . . well, one day she had a sudden flash of insight into younger Han, casting off from the Imperial Navy, on his own and independent, except there was this Wookiee. And Han had smoothly just accepted the Wookiee, integrated him into his new life, and decided this was how things were going to be from now on. Two beings, not one. Fine. Let's go.

This was how he managed to be so unfazed by the idea of having a wife. She'd always thought of him as avoiding commitments, but she'd been overlooking the one huge, semipermanent commitment he _had_ accepted. He'd just done the same thing again. Jabba dead, war ended, here he was embarking on a new stage of his life, and he'd seamlessly added on another being. Leia factored into plans and decisions, Leia with them at meals, Leia tucked under his arm in quiet moments and in his bed at night. No problem. Three beings, not two. Fine. Let's go.

Sometimes four, because Luke was still kind of at sea as to where he went next. Fine with Han. He liked having a brother.

She was nervous, a bit, about telling Han the plan to set up on Chandrila in a potentially permanent capacity, but he only nodded.

"Makes sense," he said. "Everybody knew Mon Mothma was going to end up in charge anyway."

"She wants me to live there," Leia said hesitantly. "Eventually. She's talking about apartment buildings that were used by the Imperials - she's got aides on-planet, people who used to work for her, they're asking questions about what we . . . want."

"Okay," he said. He was tightening a bolt while they talked, and he paused to trade one tool for another. "Well, whatever you want, really. I don't have a lot of real specific needs. If we could have room for Chewie?"

"You don't - that would be all right with you? To live on Chandrila?"

He shrugged. "We have to dock somewhere. I won't lie to you, sweetheart - I don't know if I'll stay in the New Republic military forever. But whatever we do next, one home base is as good as another. As long as it's where you are."

The "we," she knew, was him and Chewie in this case; but the last part made it all right. She kissed him and asked, "Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure." He put down his ratchet. "Actually. Think we can get a decent kitchen? 'Cause I've seen apartments with a stove no bigger than the _Falcon_ 's, and a real one would be nice. We wouldn't have to have so much stew."

"I'll ask," she said.

So here she was. Leia Organa, after the war. Probably going to be named some kind of official in the new government, the way Mon Mothma was talking (since she no longer had a world to represent in the legislature). Her brother was trying to figure out how to be a new kind of Jedi. Her husband's Wookiee partner was trying to help her brother, which was a not very subtle way of giving the newly married couple a few weeks to themselves. She and her husband were flying thinly veiled diplomatic missions to recruit worlds to the new government, under the guise of a little postwar vacation. And somewhere on Chandrila, aides were choosing an apartment that had a big enough kitchen for her husband, who apparently had always been secretly dying to cook six-course meals with elaborate combinations of Corellian spices. This was probably something like how normal people lived.

Fine. Let's go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all! If you want to read them, look for a few more chapters posted separately.


End file.
